#fragrance army

[fragsnfumes]

September 2023 ~

I typically veer off to the niche end of the isle but I do like the quality and complexity of Tom Ford Private Blends (though I don't currently own any myself). That being said, this release looks to be quite polarizing. It represents Tom Ford's interpretation of myrrh, with primary notes described as myrrh, sandalwood and vanilla, with prominent musky, powdery and ambery accords. Yesterday, however, amber, vanilla and warm spice were the top accords so ratings are changing!

Intriguingly, of the 28 votes on Fragrantica so far, a majority has voted "hate", with less than half for "love" and a small portion voted "like". For such a musky and powdery fragrance with warm, sweet and spicy undertones, it's also eybrowraising that a majority have voted it to be a spring/summer fragrance. I'm curious to see how the votes change after it's released to the public!

[purpldawne]

someone stop me before i add another blonde to the "to hoard" list

[gremlingottoosilly]

Moo business (monster!Konig x CowHybrid!fem!Reader)

Promotion to colonel has its perks. Having your own caretaker with fluffy cow years and a nice pair of...additions is one of them - and Konig is about to enjoy his new rank.

Content warning: Hybrids, Konig is a huge pervert, naive cow hybrid reader, slight dub-con, power imbalance, and inappropriate work behavior, lactation kink. Implied big chested!Reader

Humans have learned to live with monsters. Obviously, having dangerous, much more powerful neighbors in this tiny green planet, didn’t allow humans to actually thrive and succeed – the power dynamics were shifted ever since the first monster decided, that wearing a collar and identification badge doesn’t really go with their style. And humans would be much more suited to wear it. 

Unfortunately, monsters aren’t created equal – while most of them are killing machines with little to no regard to the danger of real life, there are some particularly fragile hybrids with no use in fights or even normal life. House cat hybrid girls, almost no claws and all purring and laying on their backs to let humans and other monsters pet their bellies. Sheep hybrids, all fluff and tiny, rounded horns that would never hurt anyone. Cow hybrids, adorable and silly, no use in the fights except for moral support. 

Which is exactly why König was fucking pissed. 

— G…good evening, sir. I will be your assistant for the day. I mean, every day. As long as you’re having me. 

You smile nervously, munching on your lips. When the only way up the social ladder was working in the army as an…assistant? Moral support? Waving your nurse training like you’d be able to safely secure a monster’s health when he is twice as big as you? 

Being a colonel in the army has its perks – better gear, better paycheck, better chunks of meat that he can bite off the enemies without higher-ups whining about war crimes and rules of war. Having a cute lil’ assistant with fluffy ears and a chest that physically can’t fit into the uniform, forcing you to wear permanent cleavage and just let a bit of chubbiness roll on the tight fabric is also a perk. For a pervert, maybe, but not for König who is already sworn to never deal with anyone who is this sensitive, this soft, and this…adorable. 

He thought he was quite certain in his wishes – if higher-ups really need for him to take a fuck toy, he wanted it to be resilient. Maybe a dog hybrid, maybe a vampire, just weak and hungry enough to overpower with little fights. Not someone like you, who has no idea what she is doing in the army and why her hands are trembling like he is going to devour you alive. Although, looking at the way your chest is swaying every time you flinch…maybe, he can do just that. Teach higher-ups a lesson on why he doesn’t need their handouts. 

— Dismissed. 

He doesn’t even look at you. Honestly, you’re a bit hurt – honestly, you almost want to yell at him or scream or tell all of your higher-ups that the colonel is a huge jerk who clearly doesn’t need a little cow darling to make him coffee and tend to his needs and be a huge moral support because they can’t take another fucked out recruit when the dangerous hybrid is in heat again. You feel like a glorified whore – the one that he doesn’t even want. 

— B…but…

You pout your lips, a billion questions raised in your mind – why is he like this, what is his deal and you should even look at him if he clearly doesn’t want you…and that look on your face, helplessness mixed with a bit of deliciously sweet anger, combined with your soft, doe features…

Colonel has a problem. 

He thought he knew what he wanted – a strong partner, someone resilient and fiery, someone who can take his cock anywhere without whining. Someone who wouldn’t require a lot of attention and softness, someone who knows their place. Now König looks at you, your floppy ears and trembling lips, and his gaze darts lower, his nose getting milk fragrances even under all of those layers of fabric. 

It doesn’t take a genius to know why they sent you. He doesn’t need a secretary, he doesn’t need an assistant and even if he needs help with something, there are always lower ranks ready to do whatever he says. You’re useless to him, on all levels he can imagine – and yet, he can’t find it in him, to truly dismiss you. To hate your trembling lips and obedient stare – no thought behind those pretty eyes of yours. He always thought he wanted someone strong, someone who is hard to break and resilient to any advances. 

He looks at you and, for the first time in forever, has this wild urge to protect. 

— Sir? Is everything alright? 

You tilt your head to the side, that naive stare you has makes his cock twitch in his pants. It was a long time since he had sex with anyone, especially that adorable. Some hybrids look like they are made to be fucked and loved and used in all of those delicious ways – he knows it’s problematic, he knows that having that view on fellow monsters isn’t right for someone as strong as him, but he wants to devour you. Wants to see that pretty eyes wide from desire – he knows you’d feel the urge too, it’s in your blood, to present your soft belly and even softer tits to a larger predator. 

Indulging on you would mean giving up on his attempts of constantly undermining the higher-ups – it would also mean that he would finally receive a partner for the extensive mating seasons that clash with his work and make his skilling rate go up – and not just for the enemies. Private Halseen, you will be missed. Your ass probably wouldn’t. 

— I thought you’d heard me the first time. 

— But I brought coffee.

— They make coffee machines in cows now? 

— Sir! I was just trying to…break the ice? I’m your new operator, or, um, assistant, I have nurse training, and I…

— What are you going to do with an injury? Lick it away? 

— M…my saliva has healing properties, so…

— They really sent me a magic cow, ja? 

— That’s a very…special way to put it, colonel.

You are surprisingly stubborn for someone who isn’t a confident killing machine. You balance the little tray with a cup of coffee – a big one, seems like you did your homework on that one – and he can’t help but imagine your hands gripping something else this tightly. Your body is trembling, your face switches between a sad and a surprised expression as he slowly emerges from his table to get a good look at you. 

You’re a cow hybrid – they are naturally adorable, naturally soft, and naturally made for someone like him to tower over. He is good over 7 foot, even in mostly human form, and his monster height would be almost twice your size – he'd love to take you like this, raw, bully his giant cock into your, no doubt, tight pussy, and make you squeal from the stretch. Maybe, he can help you with milk production – put another hybrid into you, make your belly swell from his cum. Keep you locked away in his room like a perfect little treat, using your soft body as a perfect pillow. 

He can’t help but lick his lips in anticipation – saliva collecting in his mouth as the thinks of all the ways he can use such a pretty secretary. There is no way you don’t know why they sent you here – no way you think that your self-worth is something more than being his obedient pet, beloved toy. König never thought of settling down, the bloodshed is his one and only partner – but he looks at your rounded horns, at your twitching ears and pouty lips – and he thinks about putting his earring right into your floppy ear. lick away all the blood and calm you down as you’d squirm under the pain, soothe your panicking cow brain as he would bully his cock even deeper, claiming you as…

Ah, shit. You’re still here, waiting for his answer – your eyes are shocked and afraid, anticipated a little bit because of course you’re aroused, his pheromones are too overwhelming for a thing like you – you stare at the bulge in his pants, at nis, no doubt, hard cock – and he can almost see gears in your head turning slowly. God, you’re adorable. 

— You forgot the milk. 

— Sergeant Horangi didn’t say anything about milk. 

So, Horangi was the one to set you up. Of course, tiger shifter probably got his hots on you – pretty prey, perfect for every hunter nearby, but, just as a good officer, he let you go to his colonel first. You talk back with a surprisingly fierce tone and König appreciates the way his mask covers up his whole face – you couldn’t see his smile, the way corners of his mouth jerked up at your pout. Continue like this, and the colonel will do more than just smile at your antics. 

— Probably because he knew that our milk is shitty. 

— If…if you need me to bring you something else, I will do it right away, sir. 

— No need, Kuhen. I think you have what I need right here. 

His cock twitches in his pants again – your eyes are locked on his bulge, you slowly push the tray to the table. You’re naive, you’re cute, and he knows that KorTac probably pays you triple for being this adorable and playing dumb like the good girl you are – bastards probably know that if you’d be upfront and pushy, he would just set you away from his office. 

But standing here, munching on your lower lip, your soft, pink tongue disappearing in your mouth only to reaper to lick your lips again, your face not ever betraying the emotions you, no doubt, are feeling – König can smell your arousal, can almost see the way your pussy is glittering with juices flowing right into your soaked panties. They send a lamb – a cow – to his chambers and they know that he would never resist a good hunt. You allow him to cut through the chase, to just pin you to his desk and take what’s his – but anxiety, that stupid fucking worm eating his brain over the tiniest facts, is making him question everything again. He knows he thinks too much, he knows it’s not going to do him any good – still, he wants to be sure that you’re not too dumb to understand his advances. Still, he wants to play a bit more. Delay the moment of sex because his doubt can eat him alive otherwise. 

— Take off your shirt, Schatzen. 

He doesn’t even look at your chest, bouncing from the tight shirt you were wearing – poor buttons holding on for dear life, barely containing your soft flesh – he drinks up your expressions, embarrassment, and poorly hidden curiosity. You saw the job requirements for an operator, saw his profile – high risks, high aggression, can be very, very violent – and you decided that you can take him, for the right pay. 

— You want me to…take off something else, sir?

A smart girl would run the fuck away from him – but you just lock your hands in front of you, not even bothering to cover your chest. God, he wants to be with you forever – just for that little look on your face your nervousness. You’re standing in front of him, only wearing pants and your bra – and you’re afraid that he isn’t going to like what he sees. 

Just for this expression, he might as well push a ring on your finger already. 

— Ja. Bra is next. 

You nod like you expected this. You probably did – for a prey hybrid, you’re surprisingly smart in understanding what he needs. Your bra is lacy and cute, white, with little flat roses printed – surely not something he expected from military personnel, even if your duties are laying in under him, not with your belly in trenches and your cute hands squeezing the trigger. 

Your breasts look even bigger without a bra to keep them close. You place a hand under your chest, feeling a bit awkward with your colonel just standing here, looming over your form. You lick your lips – he cocks his head closer to you. You can hear something shifting under his hood – you don’t know what his face looks like, rumors were opting for either a bunch of tentacles tucked neatly inside of his hood, the head of some mythical animal, or a normal, but disfigured and burned human face. You don’t know which option you prefer – even the files you were reading before choosing this job didn’t give you an answer. There is something stirring inside of you when you’re thinking about tentacles, though. 

— Braves Mädchen…good girl. 

You smile, feeling the knot in your tummy getting even tighter at the praise. You like him – despite his rough exterior and the obvious arousal, you like being liked, wanted, and devoured by a much stronger predator. Not having any supernatural powers, your only survival option in this world is to appease the strongest – and it looks like you just got a really juicy target. 

Suddenly, König grabs your waist and lifts you to his table – documents go flying around and you put a bit more, thinking of how long it would take to put everything back together. He doesn’t care for your concerns – the next thing you know, you are pushed ever further into his table, and the colonel lifts the end of his hood just enough to envelop his mouth on one of your nipples. 

— S…sir! Please, a little warning next time…

He laughs, his hands pressing small, sweet bruises into the curve of your waist. His mouth feels cold at first – then he flicks his tongue at your hardened nipple, and it feels like an oven. You moan you squeak, you squirm under him – all those documents and transferring and half a dozen Suits trying to tell you of how dangerous your work is going to be, how unstable and irritated the colonel is, how he is probably going to shoo you from his office the first two weeks – all of this comes flying right out the window. 

— You already think of the next time, Schatzen? 

König never tastes something as sweet, as silky, and smooth as your breasts. There is something deep, primal, wild in the way he sucks and bites at your nipple – he devours the taste of your skin and it feels like he can come to his pants just from the feeling alone. You’re squirming in his grasp, poor thing, probably aren’t used to sensation – he closes his eyes and allows his monster to take over, to take what he wants from you. 

He shifts to your other breasts, warming and cooling them at the same time. He isn’t an expert in that weird kind of massage, but you don’t need an expert in boob sucking when all of your cow instincts telling you to spread your legs and allow him to put babies in you, to breed like the prey you are, to take care of you outside of this stupid job. You’re terrified that his sharp teeth can draw blood and arouse at the way his tongue clicks at your nipples so perfectly, so naturally, like he was doing it his whole life. 

You moan, whispering little begs and praying to deaf ears. Your hands are going to hig his neck, to just kind put your fingers on his hood and just keep it here, not daring to try and direct the movements of his tongue. All of those days of constant preparing for the worst, long nights of studying the psychology of hunters, of predator hybrids, didn’t leave you much time to milk yourself in the past week – you might just be a hybrid, but it doesn’t release you from the endless burden of constant lactation. 

— S…so embarrassing…please, sir, we need to stop or I will…

— Ja, meine Kuh? Did you want to say something to your colonel? 

— Please, I’m going to…fuck, this is embarrassing…

— Language. 

He closes his teeth on your tender bud, making you moan his name – his callsign – loudly. He grunts from satisfaction, finally tasting sweet milk pouring from his body – might be the only thing that makes cow hybrids useful for someone as strong as him. 

Your milk is sweet, rich, and creamy, and your little cries only make it tastier. He pushes his tongue deeper, swirls it around your hardened bud, waits for you to moan even more – every inch of your being makes him feel weird, protective, like he already put a baby in that soft tummy of yours and made you his. It’s dumb, you aren’t even connected on the official level – but he sucks your milk ever so passionately, forgetting about every mission trouble he had.

Sucking your tits feels like therapy – giving up all of his powers just to kiss you, to bite you, to drink your milk, and softly massage the flesh until your pussy starts to grind against the round corner of his table. Poor thing, he doesn’t even touch you in any way – you’re too precious for this, and he falls too deeply into your eyes and the swell of your chest. 

— Sir! Pl…please, don’t…if you’d stop, I will…

He drinks your milk swiftly, feels the liquid dripping down his chin – always a messy eater, one of the reasons he used the mask to hide his embarrassment. He can’t look at your face, the angle is too far off for this, and it disappoints him – he wants to drink your pretty expressions, wants to know that he is one to make that pretty cow this slutty. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to get your ass off his office – and now he is changing between two of your round breasts, making sure to not waste a drop. 

Fuck, this is far better than any milk the base kitchen can provide. 

He sucks a little bit more, pressing his tongue against your swollen, abused nipples. You whine at the sensation, poor little hybrid isn’t used to his teeth and his mouth – he’d have to make sure to repeat this procedure every other day, if possible, to get you used to direct milking. He’d have to spend weeks spreading your pretty cunt for him, teaching you how to milk his cock and meowl like a good prey hybrid you are – but he didn’t become colonel because he was afraid of challenges. 

He stops sucking with a little pop, final droplets of milk falling to his lips as he licks it, groaning from pleasure. His stubble made the soft skin around your nipples irritated and you tremble when the cold air hits them – you feel fragile, used, your pussy is twitching around nothing, the pulsation forcing you to grind against the corner of his table like a bitch in heat. 

König made you like this – half-naked, trembling, so fucking horny that you can’t even look at him without dropping to your knees, and it almost made you want to run away. He squeezes your tits again, enveloping the soft mounts in his large, rough hands – you whine a little bit, still all too sensitive after this pleasurable torture he created. 

— How do you feel? 

He sounds…weaker now. Almost embarrassed at his little outburst, he picks up your bra and helps you get dressed – you both want more, to check if his table is really as sturdy as it looks, but König has a training session in 30 minutes and you have König’s training session, standing behind his shoulder and watching him yelling at the recruits. It would be hard to get scared at him again, when every time his cold gaze darts to your face, he softens. When you look at him and can only imagine milk dripping down your chin – your milk, no less. 

— I’m…empty. In a good way, I mean. Thank you, sir.

You feel weird when he gently helps you get into your clothes, his fingers are simply too big for the buttons – he presses his head against your shoulder, trying to concentrate, and you awkwardly hug him for stability. He chuckles. 

— My pleasure, Schatzen. 

You stand here, awkwardly – your neck enveloped with a collar, with his name on it, and he can’t pry his eyes away from it. God, he never knew that being a colonel would allow him such a cutie as a bonus. KorTac didn’t seem like an organization that would give away wives so easily, but König isn’t going to complain. 

He just has to make sure to keep you chained to his table, that’s all. 

[anjelicawrites]

Do you remember when you wrote about reader fantasising about her and osferth being king and queens and taking Aemond as there war trophy? Could we get a oneshot on that??? Not like as an au but as them actually roleplaying tho

I'm so sorry this came out this late! I hope the fic makes up for the long wait!!!

NSFW and 18 + only please.

Warnings: three people acting out a dubious consent fantasy. Everyone is happy in this scenario but, if dubious consent is not your thing, please skip this one! Oral (m receiving), balls worship, handjob, collar and leash usage, captive scenario where sex is used to trap the person in a dubious consent situation.

Your husband shall arrive soon with his newest gift from the latest city his army has conquered; he's told you to prepare yourself, that this is something you've wanted for such a long time, what you deserve after your injury in battle. To tell the truth you have no idea what he's prepared for you, the excitement sits at the pit of your stomach, heavy and warm against the bodice you're wearing.

You've styled your hair and used the sweetest fragrance you own, you've put a light dusting of makeup on your face and now you're pacing the length of the tent, waiting anxiously: you hate that you can't fight by his side, protecting him from his enemies, your injuries far too serious to accompany him anywhere near the battlefield that's not your shared tent.

You'd recognize his footsteps anywhere, you sit on the edge of the cot, hands under your thigh to still their trembling.

"My sweet beloved."

Before he can say anything else, you jump into Osferth's open arms, your legs finding their rightful place around his trim hips. Deaf to his words you cover his face in kisses like am hyperactive dog, until he manages to grab your chin one handed to stop you.

"Don't you want to receive your gift?"

His voice is deep, with an undercurrent of lust that ignites your own desire, your eyes falling only now on he leash he keeps wound around his hand.

He doesn't even wait for your response, he tugs at the leather and the most beautiful man you've ever seen steps inside the tent.

He's naked, wearing only a leather collar around his long neck, a light dusting of platinum hairs adorns his chest, abdomen and pubes, his nipples darker pink and already erect. His cock is magnificent, even flaccid as it is under your gaze, his stones heavy, the skin, you imagine, is as soft as velvet. You let your eyes wander on the wall of muscles this man is, not a ounce of fat on his lithe body, a killing machine now under your power. Only when you meet his mismatched gaze you realize the importance of the gift your husband bestowed upon you.

"Is it...?"

Osferth doesn't let you finish your question, with a jerk on the collar he forces your gift to stand closer to you

"He is, the prince Aemond Targaryen."

You squeal in happiness, jumping up and down while clapping your hands like a maniac.

You've heard tales of his beauty and marring, you've never thought Osferth would fulfill the desire to have him as your own, you once told him.

Through this whole conversation he stays as still as a statue, and silent. If he's scared or embarrassed, you can't tell.

"Has he lost his tongue?" You ask, padding closer to him. "No. He's just stubborn." "Oh, I like that."

You stand close to him, your index following the hard path of muscles on his tummy and chest. His skin is so warm, warmer than Osferth's, his body hairs soft under your finger; you know he's reacting to your proximity thanks to the blossoming of goosebumps wherever your touch lands.

"He's all mine, isn't he?" You ask your husband. "To play with when I am away." He smiles, darkly, and you know you're not going to be the only one enjoying this beautiful specimen.

You're not paying enough attention and Aemond grabs your wandering hand in a painful grip, before Osferth can do anything you stop him and stare into the lonely lilac eye boring into yours.

Under the cold mask you can see so many emotions: hate, disgust, rage, and the flame of something you can't name, yet. There is contempt in his eye, and something else you're not sure he's aware of, but you are.

You know you are beautiful, you're well aware of the power your body holds over men and women. You can see his eye darting to your breasts almost spilling over the tight neckline of your corset: he hates you, if he weren't held captive he would try to kill you, yet he can't help appreciating the spectacle of your curves, and you know it, even if he doesn't.

"Let's make a deal, you and I." You say leisurely, as if his hold isn't grinding your bones. "Let me worship your body like it deserves. If you don't make a sound, you're free to go, but if you spill the smallest whine, you're mine to keep and play with."

You can hear Osferth's intake of breath and elect to ignore it. Aemond's eye is as cold as ice as he stares at you, weighting his options with a soft humming you can barely hear; in your heart you want this beautiful specimen of a man to submit to you and let you do depraved things to him, until you both break down.

"Agreed."

His voice is ice in your ears, so cold you only want to hear him beg and whine under your caresses: you deserve it, he deserves it, your beloved husband does as well.

"Osferth, let him lie on the bed, tummy up." You order. "I'm not letting go of the leash." At that Aemond simply sneers, almost choking when Osferth pulls on the leather again. "And if you try something stupid, you're dead." "He will not." You interject, free hand grabbing Osferth's. "He'll have no brain left to do anything as soon as I am done with him." "You wish, woman."

Someone else would feel put out by Aemond's contempt, you're simply excited by the prospect of breaking his controlled exterior.

Calmly you invade his personal space, making sure your clothed breasts push against the hard planes of his chest and your lips are at level with his.

"Go lie on the bed and show me how tough you are."

You have to hide the grimace of pain when he lets go of your wrist, which feels numb now: you're going to wear his marks tomorrow, the same way he's gonna wear yours.

With precise movements, Aemond lies flat on the bed, his long legs spread, soft cock laying on one muscular thigh; he stares at you, ignoring Osferth who is laying horizontally where the pillows are to keep an eye on him, his pupil expanding against his will when you remove your small clothes and he can see the hairs there. On purpose you don't remove your corset, he hasn't yet gained the privilege to look at your naked breasts, yet.

Slowly, telegraphing your movements, you kneel between his legs, noticing how his cock is stirring to life untouched: he's making it so easy for you!

He's so tense, the strong muscles of his ankles jump when lay your hands, simply caressing the prominent bones there, before slowly following up the long lines of his muscles. You can feel the trapped energy his body holds, the anxiety for what's to come that tenses his muscles into strings ready to snap at any given moment, yet you continue your gentle ministration, trying to help him relax. His cock seems to appreciate your efforts, slowly hardening and oh! He's a grower, not that his cock wasn't impressive to begin with. Your eyes dart to his face, which is still set in that stony expression he wore the moment he set foot in your tent, what he feels betrayed by the fire in his eye.

His thighs jump when your hands approach the delicious junction with his hips, his translucent hairs so soft under your palms, you'd caress him for hours, but there's his half hard cock to look after, and his heavy balls: you don't have the whole night.

You stretch one hand and Osferth already knows what to do, his tongue licks your palm and you can see the dark smile on his face: he's been at your mercy for hours, begging and crying for you, there's no way this haughty prince will beat you at this game.

Gently you cup Aemond's half hard cock, feeling the weight and the steel under the soft velvet of his skin. With a loose, slow fist, you caress him into full hardness, paying close attention to his head, red and weepy already; under you, he bites down his lip and grabs the bedding with a desperate grip: it has been so long since...

His hips jump off the bed when the tip of your devious tongue licks his base playfully, before following the vein under his erection; you're taking your time, tasting him until all you can feel is him, masculine and heady, letting the loose 'O' of your lips envelope his cock head.

Your mouth is a furnace, he has to stop himself from whining as soon as you start taking him in, moaning at his girth, his hips trying to follow your movements when one hand grabs what you can't swallow; your touch now is stronger, angling his cock to your leisure, your mouth trailing kisses up and down his shaft, teasing him with kitten licks that have his hips jump under your face, his teeth mauling his lower lip to keep silent.

The bedding rips as soon as you start mouthing his heavy balls as you jack his cock, slowly, with a tight fist, tongue following the shape of his sacks. Aemond can feel the tears spilling from his eyes, it's so hard to keep quiet when you're devouring him, sucking on his heavy stones, moaning against his body and Gods your hand! So soft and hard at the same time, torturing him so slowly, teasingly, he can feel your touch all over his body!

The more his silence lasts, the more ravenous your hunger for him becomes, the more desperate your lips on his body kiss and mouth at his soft skin as he trembles and squirms under your ministration, his control unraveling with every passing second. You're so warm against him, the vibrations of your moans travel through his body like lightning, his cock and balls hurt with every pass yet he can't get enough of you.

A scream is tore out of him when you deepthroat him and push your thumb against his stones to separate them, index finger massaging his prostate from the outside.

Whines cascade from his lips now and broken pleas for mercy when you tighten your throat around his shaft to massage him mercilessly: you're velvet around him, you burn like fire, his abused nerves tortured by you sing and scream all over his body. Desperate Aemond tries to stop his orgasm, the band in his belly so tight it hurts to breathe, broken pants and whines all he can manage as he feels the tide growing and growing, taking his sanity away, his long body squirming under you, back arching painfully, until he comes inside of you, and you suck him, ravenous, hungry for his taste.

Aemond's body lays on the bed, chest raising and falling fast, his eye unfocused on the ceiling; he whines when you hover over him to kiss him, his seed on your tongue like ambrosia, your tongue wicked against his. He is so tired now, he just wants to sleep in your arms.

"Dōna jorrāelagon, sweet love." He whines and you immediately understand that playtime is over. "I'm here, I'm here."

You hold his bigger body tight as Osferth brackets him from behind.

"Are you all right?" He asks, concerned.

You and Osferth can see how hard it is for him to switch from High Valyrian and give him time to get his gears in motion.

"So tired." He whispers. "Take this off?"

As fast as you can, you remove your corset to let him push his face against your naked breasts.

"Is it good tired or bad tired?" You can't help but ask.

Aemond hums against you, breathing your scent in.

"Good tired."

You can feel relief wash over you. You were afraid of hurting him when he proposed to act out this little fantasy of yours, you were scared of his demons, and yours, coming out and ruin everything.

"May we continue this, later?" He asks, voice muffled by your breasts. "Anything you want." Osferth answers from behind him. "You deserve a taste of your prize, as well."

Aemond can't see Osferth's eyes cross at the thought, he's asleep between your bodies, in his dreams, he's already started to play again.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[gugapuppy]

Abortion - Part 1

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

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I've been fucking stressed this week, so instead of shouting at the people around me, I've made this anguish here!

CW: Implied abortion

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Okay, but A!Ghost and O!Soap, where Soap accidentally gets pregnant and tells Ghost, thinking that everything will be fine and that the two of them will work things out together, but Ghost, after hearing about the pregnancy, swears and kicks Soap out of his room, calling him a cheater and other things.

Soap tearfully asks in despair what happened, why Simon is acting like this, but Ghost doesn't answer from inside the room. 

Several weeks passed, each time Soap tried to talk to the lieutenant, but each time Ghost ignored him as if Soap didn't exist, Ghost no longer had lunch or dinner with Soap, the two no longer smoked together behind the barracks, even every time Soap entered an environment where Ghost was, the lieutenant always ran away quickly.

The omega needs the minimum of comfort from his alpha, just a piece of clothing with his fragrance, or just a pat on the shoulder, but his alpha doesn't care about him anymore. The two weren't mated either, which made matters worse.

Gaz, Price and Laswell, and a few other soldiers noticed the change between the duo.

Gaz tried to talk to Soap, but Soap, afraid, didn't say anything about the pregnancy and just said that he and Simon had had a bit of a row, but didn't elaborate.

Price tried to talk to Ghost but the man said it was nothing, even though he knew there was something Ghost and Soap weren't telling him.

Laswell also tried to talk to Ghost but it didn't work out, as the man asked to be sent on a mission, and Laswell, unable to do much, allowed it.

After two days without seeing Ghost at the base, Soap decided to ask Price, and Price told him about Ghost's solo mission, that he would be away for at least a week or two.

And at that moment, Soap just bowed his head and thanked him for the information, and then ran to his room, and when he arrived and locked his door, he collapsed, crying gallons of tears inside his nest while hugging an scentless sweatshirt that Simon had forgotten there.

At some point he fell asleep, and hours later he woke up to his mobile phone vibrating under his pillow. When he answered it, Soap heard his mother's voice, and again he burst into tears, remembering that his own mother had been abandoned by Soap's alpha shitty father before he was born.

At that moment he told his mum everything that had happened, about Simon, the pregnancy, everything. The smell of stress and melancholy wafted through the room, anyone in there would throw up or run to give the omega a cuddle.

His mother was very understanding, listening until the end and calming him down as Soap had little anxiety attacks. In the end, Soap asked what he should do, his mother remained silent, debating for a moment what to say to her son.

After a few minutes she said calmly. "If you bring that child into the world, you won't be able to work in the army any more and you'll have to find another job that pays a lot less, plus you'll be forever linked to that alpha who hurt you."

"But he's not bad, Mum." Soap whispered.

And on the other end of the line his mum sighed. "If he was someone good, he wouldn't have treated you like that, darling." A harsh reality that Soap wished were a lie.

She was right, if Simon cared about Soap he would still be here and on his side.

"You should think about what you want to do, you have to think about what's best for you." -She said gently.

They exchanged a few more words before Soap hung up and stayed quietly inside his room and nest, staring at the ceiling and running his hand over his belly.

Gradually, everything about the pregnancy, from the time he found out to the recent weeks he spent alone, sad and abandoned in his nest without his alpha to comfort him, and together with the conversation he had with his mum earlier, Soap made up his mind.

In the gloom of his room, with his hands wrapped around his belly, Soap mumbled with small tears running down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to bring my first son or daughter into a world where he or she will have to be raised by a dysfunctional family..."

Soap was going to look for a clinic this week and someone to accompany him there...

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Idk if there's gonna be a pt 2, I just wanted to take my anger out on something. If u want, say something i guess?

Love u all! 😀

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Sorry, but this is a little self-indulgent thingie for the long-haired girlies.

(John brushing your hair, essentially, but with a soft & smutty twist)

CoD ML

So, imagine John observing you in the bathroom yet again. Yes, again, because he’s been doing this for weeks. For some strange reason, your partner is absolutely fascinated by your skin care routine (no matter how elaborate or plain). Many a morning and night, he’ll sit on the edge of the tub while gazing at your reflection in the mirror. You think it’s cute, especially when he’s a little drowsy and fighting himself to stay awake.

However, it’s only part of the reason he’s there.

Before you can put the brush to your hair, it’s plucked out of your hand.

“Let me, princess,” John says as he puts one of his warm bear-like hands on your shoulder to make sure you don’t move. Only when he feels the tension in it fade does he let go.

Like an antiquarian handling a delicate relic or antique, he starts working the brush through your hair. It’s a privilege to him, to be in your space like this, taking care of you in a new way.

And perhaps satisfy his little obsession.

John absolutely loves playing with your hair. While cuddling, he likes to run his fingers through it. There’s something tender about how soft it is, like a stark contrast to his reality. On more than one occasion has he randomly sniffed your hair after you washed it, enjoying how the fragrance of whatever shampoo you used mingles with your own scent. Btw, yes, John does have a preference when it comes to shampoos and when you’re using one he doesn’t particularly like, he’ll give you subtle hints to let you know and cryptically ask to swap it out with something else.

Recently, he’s started braiding your hair. Like, you’d be on the couch reading, gaming, or watching the telly and John will suddenly pop up at your side. It differs per day, but he likes to either put you in his lap or envelop you in a bear hug. Afterwards, almost instantly, he’ll slip into his personal bubble.

Whenever you bring the curious kindness up, he’ll brush past it, calling it a show of his deep-running affection for you.

And it is, but it’s also a way for him to relax. The repetitive motions combined with your presence and the fact he can keep busy and shut his brain off for a moment is calming to him.

Allows him to have a life outside the army.

To be an ordinary man.

Deeply in love with his princess.

“So this was your big plan all along?” A smile spreads on your lips when, in the mirror, you see John nod.

He wraps your hair, now smooth and without tangles, around his hand and pulls to make you tilt your head upwards and force eye contact. You feel him hardening through his sweats as you push your ass back against him. A sound holding the middle between a pleased growl and dark chuckle follows the sweet yet hungry kiss he gives you. “Mission accomplished. Bravo Six, going dark.”

In the bedroom.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers. 

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office. 

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair,  resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge,  running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear. 

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way. 

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

[fragsnfumes]

August 2023 ~

Le Labo's city exclusive for Shanghai is new for this year - Myrrhe 55. At the center is the myrrh note, with accords of amber, white florals, animalic, and musk . Yet another myrrh-themed scent this autumn, Tom Ford Private blends are also releasing their own interpretation in September.

I wouldn't mind!

[sdr2lovemail]

Anything for My Lady!

Synopsis: You're Muzan's faithful aide and she rewards your hard work with sweet words and a kiss. In reference to this post I made.

Note: Manipulation (kinda, reader is aware and is fine with it.) Gn Reader.

Requests are open!

Becoming the perfect being is what Muzan wanted. She almost had it all; immortality, eternal youth, and an army of bloodthirsty demons. Though there was one thing stopping her from becoming perfect, her inability to conquer the sun. Muzan had spent years, decades, centuries trying to find a way. She looked through every book, every village, every person but has yet to find an answer. 

Nothing, not a single book in the infinity castle had any new information. Flipping through pages and tossing them to the side, Muzan was getting frustrated. Before her resolve could fully snap, she found something. A formula dating a few centuries back, one she had not tried before. With an almost crazed smirk, she called out to the demon with a biwa.

“Nakime, summon my precious aide for me.” Her voice practically purred.

Positioning her fingers on the strings, Nakime gave a subtle nod. “Yes, Lord Muzan.”

You were confused, being pulled from your home and into a never-ending labyrinth so suddenly. Though the confusion quickly wore off. Seeing the familiar complexities of the infinity castle made your chest warm. It meant your lady needed you.

A shiver goes down your spine when you hear it. The sound of your name falling from soft lips. Muzan stands tall in the center of the room. Her hair was in its usual bun, her kimono perfectly draped. With quick yet elegant steps, she’s in front of you. Her sharp, red eyes pierce through you. “Kneel.”

It was as if your body switched to auto-piolet. You get down on one knee, a hand on your chest, bowing your head. “Lady Muzan, it’s so wonderful to see you again. Is there something you need of me?” 

Muzan reached a hand down, bringing the tips of her fingers to lift your chin. She smiled. The sight caused your stomach to flutter. “Yes, there is something I need. Rather urgently at that.” With her free hand, she holds a sheet of parchment. “See these ingredients? I need you to collect them for me.” 

Your eyes look into hers, shining with pure devotion. “Of course, I will go right away.” 

Muzan gleamed at your eagerness. She kneels next to you, her hand cupping your chin. “Always so happy to please. You’re unlike my demon subordinates. No, you’re far more special. You can do things they can’t. I can call you day or night.”

Your spine tingled as she leaned in close, her breath tickling your ear. Her voice was low as she whispered. 

“Make quick work of this task, and I’ll reward you. Don’t disappoint me.” Muzan’s lips grazed against the shell of your ear. Her waxy lipstick left a faint mark.

Clasping your hands together, you look on at Muzan with awe. She was so close. The floral fragrance of her perfume wafts into your nose, sending a jolt through your body. “I won’t let you down! I’ll get everything on the list, I promise.” 

“Good.” Muzan pulls away, standing to her full height. She turns around and gives a dismissive wave of her hand. Nakime sends you off with a strum of her biwa.

Once you’re gone, the demon king walks back to her desk with a smirk. You were so easy to work, so malleable. You would do anything she said. She liked that. Unlike some of her demons, you never complained or whined; never asked for anything in return. Just working for her seemed to be enough payment. She couldn't help but wonder, would you still serve her in her other forms?

Hours had passed, and the sun was going down on the horizon. 

“They have returned, Lord Muzan,” Nakime announced as she strummed the strings of her biwa. The infinity castle shifted and shuffled until you were back in front of Muzan. You held bags and parcels of many shapes.

You stand tall, bowing your head, and a light blush covers your face. “I’m back, my lady. I got everything on your list.”

In a flash, the items were out of your hands. Muzan takes her place in front of you. The way she looked down at you made your heart beat faster. She brings her hand to your cheek, a well-manicured nail grazing against your skin. “Well done. You didn’t have any trouble, did you?” Her voice was like honey, and you just wanted more of it.

“No! No trouble at all. I found everything with ease. I only had to visit two villages as well.” It didn’t matter how many villages you went to. You’d scour the whole globe if it made Muzan happy.

Slowly, Muzan leans in. Her fragrant perfume fills your senses once more. “Perfect. Now, for your reward.” 

The touch is light, but it still invigorates you. Her lips were soft and gentle against yours. Still cupping your cheek, she used her thumb to stroke your skin. The smooth feel of her lipstick was pleasant on your lips. Just as quick as the feeling came, it was gone. Though it was a chaste kiss, it felt like an eternity to you.

Once Muzan pulled away, she smirked. “Hm, you just might be my favorite. If you keep working this diligently, I’ll have to keep rewarding you.”

[wistfulnightingale]

Purged by Fire (or, Crowley as The Romantic Hero of Good Omens)

Mini-Meta #6 (Based on my Meta Analysis "Somewhat Heroes")

Does this scene make your heart flutter just a bit, like mine does? Crowley arrives, Bentley blazing, Queen music blaring. He blithely hops out of the flaming car with the sensual swagger of a lover meeting his partner for a romantic picnic on a windswept hill. Crowley greets Aziraphale as if no one else exists! Despite Shadwell's "trigger finger" in the foreground, we get a sunset shot of the young lovers. Like an old cinema movie, they are silhouetted and dappled with light.

Crowley leans in towards his Beloved. Their hair barely brushes Crowley's face. The Lover is so close that he breathes in the familiar fragrance. ("I know what you smell like!"). His Beloved was in Distress, but He's here now! Crowley's voice is deep and gentle as he murmurs, "Leave it to me." The Romantic Hero will rescue his Beloved once again, here at the climax of all the adventures they've ever had!

Crowley languidly strolls to the armed soldier. Everything's under control now, Crowley is here... "Army Human, my Friend and I have come a long way..." They arrived separately, after conflict and tragedy -- but none of that matters, they're together again. Here. Now. They will get through this, and they will finally have their Happily Ever After...

Suddenly, the scene shatters. A bike bell jingles, the Them ride through the gates, the soldier runs after the kids, and the Bentley explodes. We're thrown into a different old movie -- a tragic love story where the Hero is silhouetted against the sunset Grieving His Beloved! :D

Part of the joy of Good Omens is that it has so many serious things to say, without ever taking itself toooo seriously. This moment is one of them! But we love Crowley. We're supposed to. And he's so darn lovably human!

That's the point, though, isn't it? A Romantic Hero of Classic Cinema is often someone so glorious that they don't belong in Real Life. Unattainable. Maybe even aloof, above the fray. Despite his pretense and shields, Crowley is anything but aloof, and he struggles with the fray as much as any of us who are "Human Incarnate."

Crowley loves to play the Romantic Hero, and Aziraphale loves to set up dramatic situations for him, to let himself be rescued. It's a sweet and romantic game they play. (Full confession -- I should have put in the shot with Azi in the foreground, looking at Crowley. But Ooooh, this photo looks So Good!)

In Season 1, however, Crowley never quite gets to fulfill that role in a Classic way. Even when we examine the Classic Steps of a Hero's Journey, he doesn't meet those criteria either (nor does Aziraphale). But it's because he's not meant to be a Classic Hero above the rest of us. He (and Azi) are just like us -- they fumble along. They make bad choices and heroic choices and say stupid things sometimes and say noble things occasionally, just like we do.

The Heroic Journey that Crowley does travel, however, leads our demon to discover his greatest fear, and to overcome it. He had believed that his greatest fear was Punishment by Hell. It had happened enough before, and it was horrible. (See my Mini-Metas #1 and #4 for more on this.). After Hell kidnapped him from Edinburgh, he was punished so terribly that his corporeal body was stiff and straight, and he'd needed a cane (#4).

Crowley's fear of Hell kept him from recognizing what his Truly Greatest Fear was -- the fear of losing Aziraphale, and of facing eternity without him.

When Crowley loses Aziraphale, the optimistic demon loses all hope. He gets drunk, gets swallowed up by his most painful memories (The Fall), and waits for Armageddon. When Aziraphale returns to him, he is restored, renewed, and faces every obstacle with no visible fear. He has been purged by fire. Crowley finally recognizes himself for who he truly is, not defined by his demon identity. Neither the threats of Hell nor his own fears of being "Unforgivable" stand in his way anymore. Their Happy Ending is possible, but he will have to fight for it. And he's ready this time...

Once Crowley realizes his own worth, no obstacle seems insurmountable. He will fight for his Beloved, and he will not let their chances slip away. Crowley faces Hastur in the Bentley without fear. He survives the Hellfire of the M-25 by sheer willpower and "Imagination". Even when the unvanquishable Satan approaches, for the sake of Aziraphale, he does not give in. If Satan wins, it will not be Aziraphale's choice to "never speak to [Crowley] again." They would be eternally parted, and likely one or both would no longer exist. In a heroic act, Crowley stops time, and Our Ineffable Somewhat Heroes give Adam the knowledge he needs to overcome Satan himself.

And that night, after it's all over, in that brief interlude before they'll face their enemies again, the romantic moment of fulfillment happens. Quietly. Gently. No musical crescendo, no sweeping panoramas or even a clear view of the stars. Just a very gentle and loving demon on a bus stop bench with the angel he loves. He offers. The angel considers, uncertain. Crowley is tender, patient, accepting. The bus arrives. The angel is still thinking.

And when they get on the bus, as Aziraphale reaches the seat where Crowley waits, the demon takes his hand down from the railing. He is subtle, he rests his hand low. I imagine a small gesture, an extension of the fingers, an invitation.

As Aziraphale sits down, he takes Crowley's hand. (It's canon.)

It's a Promise. A vow. It's the moment they've waited 6000 years for. And now they are ready to fulfill it.

[eyesfullofsttars]

. ⊹✧༓ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ༓✧⊹ .

One of the myriad legends of betrayal among lovers, from childhood friendships to mortal enemies, still bound by a strange affection and an attraction whose nature only they comprehend...

Welcome to the Masterlist of this adventure, a tale of war and betrayal to be reclaimed through bloodshed! Amidst the fog lies the treachery of having been betrayed by the one woman who once understood you, her presence haunting even your dreams...

Warnings: This story will likely contain descriptions of violence (not overly graphic), nudity, obscene language, sin, guilt, an incessant ache in the chest from not being able to kiss the person you’ve most hurt, and the lingering sense that everything would be a thousand times easier if you were young again.

In ancient times, when kingdoms emerged amidst ancient forests and towering mountains, two women of contrasting origins and bold ambitions rose as rulers of neighboring lands, forging a perilous alliance fraught with the impossible-to-conceal forbidden love.

The realm of Loborth rose through the union of wolves, fierce guardians who aided in raising the orphaned queen. Its stone walls stood as unyielding shields against any intruder, and under the governor's command, Loborth's army marched with unwavering discipline. The kingdom's tranquility was forged in the fiery crucible of war, where every strategic decision bore heavily upon the vulnerable, paying the toll for the safety of its citadels.

In Vermont's lush, verdant hills, the kingdom thrived amid the whispers of ancient trees and the serene flow of rivers. Noble music echoed in natural harmony, and their ruler, a jealous protector of her lineage, found solace amidst birdsong and the sweet fragrance of flowers adorning the castle's battlements. Guided by principles of honor and loyalty to their queen, they lived in unity with the land that enveloped them. Every hamlet and farm bore witness to a community bound together under her leadership.

Yet, peace between these bordering realms shattered with the treachery of one of Loborth's wolves. Mercilessly, the Queen ended the life of Vermont's favored son out of spite, severing the peace alliance and sowing the seeds of enmity that would soon grow like the shadow of a storm. Thus began the primary dispute over the borderlands.

Since then, the neighboring nations regarded each other with suspicion and animosity. The coexistence that once flourished between their peoples was eclipsed by deceit, a specter that reaches into the very core of their rulers. This curse inexorably leads to the tragedy of scattered bodies, whose bones lie as mute witnesses beneath the foundations of their castles.

Abigail had always regarded these stories inscribed upon scrolls as mere legends, harbingers of the direst misfortunes. To her, the splendor of Loborth was not condemned by the prophecies of the past, much less by a betrayal motivated by love. Nevertheless, as she beheld her father's crown, stained with his own blood, she began to feel the weight of the history that enveloped her.

In the depths of her grief and rage, Abigail's heart contorted with a desire fueled by sorrow. Despite their former friendship, despite the love she had once nurtured...

"I want Eleanor Williams' head," Abigail declared through clenched teeth, her jaw tightening with ferocity.

𝟎𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝.

𝟎𝟐: 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐲𝐞, 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝟎𝟑: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐫.

𝟎𝟒: 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩ness.

(comment or reblog to be on the taglist for this work!!!)

[twstjam]

Lost Invitation (Part 1) - Rain Check

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!! and happy en glomas day everyone! :D To celebrate, here's part 1 of a new fic I started writing on impulse <3

Characters: Yuu, Grim, Malleus Draconia, Heartslabyul (mentioned) Word count: 2.8k Summary: You're committed to helping Riddle Rosehearts and his card soldiers in a war against followers of the Jabberwock looking to usurp the rulers of Red and White. You're also in love with a stranger you met in the woods who wants you to run away with him. Whoever said that love and war weren't so different might've been onto something. In your experience, they're both equally difficult. Nobody ever said that you had to choose between one or the other though. Ao3 Link Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

If you were asked two years ago whether or not you wished to fight in a war, your answer, reasonably, would most definitely have been a big, fat NO. You would be quicker to pack up all your things and vanish with Grim before the enemy army could even begin their march to the Boardfield, the traditional field of battle for the Queendoms of Roses and Lilies.

Though the Rosehearts and Whitelily families are infamously known for their quarrels, it's not unheard of for them to unite in times of peril. Even when currently under the leadership of constantly-conflicting young rulers Riddle Rosehearts and Wystan Whitelily this isn't untrue. When the Jabberwocks declared war on the Whitelilies, Riddle had been quick to offer his assistance.

And as someone working for the Rosehearts family, that had meant your assistance as well.

And you didn't want to be involved in a war. No one did. All of this had nothing to do with you, a magicless outsider who couldn't contribute meaningfully if you tried, so really it was best that you got out of the way as soon as possible… but who would you be if you didn't at least try to help out your friends?

You don't know when it happened, but the card soldiers and Riddle himself have become almost like family to you.You have no obligation to stay and help, even Riddle had assured you of that, but you're still not sure if it's your lack of self-perservation or sheer stupidity that had told him you wouldn't leave.

Even if it was expected, being a part of a war was hard and stressful and the days seemed to stretch longer and longer. You spend practically every waking and sleeping moment working tirelessly near a cauldron, brewing potion after potion for the use of the card soldiers. Your alchemy skills had been taught by famed alchemist Divus Crewel himself, but they can only take you so far.

You barely get full eight hours of sleep. You don't even want to imagine how Riddle and Wystan are faring. You barely see your friends anymore, let alone in a peaceful environment, and every time they head out with the troops there's no guarantee they would return.

Your days are hectic and unpredictable… but, at the very least, you have something to look forward to. Something to ground you and make you feel at ease. Or more accurately… a someone.

----

Potion ingredient runs are your favorite to do. At the very least, you do them once a week, but if potions are burnt through fast then the travels to gather herbs become more and more frequent, to your delight. Stressed as you are, you're not eager to do work as much as you are eager to get out of your cramped room cluttered with books and scrolls and herbs that is also more often than not reeking with the mixture of smells of dozens of different potions. You spend so much time in there though that you barely notice until you're walking out of a magic mirror into the open outdoors lush with greenery and colourful with blooming flowers of sweet fragrances.

Being surrounded by the beauty of nature is only one of the upsides though. As your horse brings you and the wagon deeper into the quiet but lively woods, tall, decayed stone walls slowly come into view. So many plants have made themselves at home in the cracks between the stone that from a distance it's not recognizable as an aged structure forgotten by time.

Once upon a time it was a grand tower home to a reclusive mage and alchemist. They kept their research hidden away and secret from the world… that is, until, other mages discovered their body in the tower about a decade after their death.

A majority of folk are scared to even speak about the tower, let alone visit it, and maybe once you would've been the same, but living in a haunted mansion for a few months sort of desensitizes one to the presence of any kind of ghost.

Ace and Deuce had gotten concerned when you bragged about it once. They were probably right to be, but it's not like it'd be any good even if you were afraid of ghosts. Instead of the phantom of a paranoid, lonely mage, when you had visited the tower for herbs for the first time you had instead encountered a very alive mage instead, though he's not any less lonely and secretive.

Your mysterious horned friend, whom Grim had creatively dubbed Tsunotarou, had been haunting the old ruins one night while you were gathering some rare nocturnal herbs. You had gotten spooked by a pair of reptilian green eyes peering at you from the dark, but Tsunotarou, though he was tall and horned and wrapped in elegant robes made out of the night sky, had seemed more wary of your unassuming human presence garbed in a stained alchemist's uniform. He hadn't been expecting someone else to be there. At least that made two of you.

Despite the surprise of an unwanted companion at his beloved abandoned ruins, Tsunotarou had come back, and the two of you had struck a conversation. Considering the oddness of both of your choice of location to spend your evenings, it wasn't hard to think of things to talk about. Somehow, this had led into a friendship forming between the two of you, and now when you go on your trips for herbs, it also means seeing Tsunotarou. It means cosy evenings picking herbs while he talks your ear off about the most niche topics, at the same time staining his own gloves with dirt and tearing them on briars as he helps you.

You never ask him to help. He had simply commented once that it seemed like tiring work, at the same time asking you what herbs you needed before kneeling down and gathering them for you. It's become routine since then for him to assist you, and neither of you say anything about it as you work in the comfort of each other's presence.

In a hectic life, Tsunotarou has become your anchor, your safe space. Your home away from home. The closeness you feel with him sort of just crept up on you one day, and before you know it he's made himself at home in your heart. You don't know—can't know if you're as important to him and you'd never ask, but he's become close to you like you've become close to him and you're angry at yourself for it because now your stupid heart wants to do anything for him like it does with Riddle and the others and you definitely don't have enough space on your shoulders for it.

So it's painful when Tsunotarou looks at you, no doubt taking in the sight of your paled skin and sunken eyes and says, "Come home with me."

You know why he asks. Had asked it before, and it had hurt just as much the other times, but he keeps asking, persistent. It's something you've learned is part of his non-human biology, something that comes with his horns, his tail, his eyes, his ears, and his fangs. It's part of who he is to want to keep people close, like his grandmother, his parents, his caretaker Lilia, and now you.

"I can't," you say, every time. You want to but at the same time you don't. You're curious and eager to see more and learn more about your dear friend (perhaps even his actual name one of these days), but your heart also belongs with Riddle and the card soldiers and you won't abandon them. "You know I can't."

"And you know I cannot bear seeing you so overworked and exhausted," Tsunotarou says, gentle but also stern as he caresses your cheek in his hand and despite your refusal of his offer to care for you, you lean into his touch, your heart yearning for comfort after denying it for too long.

"You also know your mother doesn't like humans," you remind him.

"I will hide you, then," he says, insistent, despite how the idea is so childish to the point that you laugh.

"That's not going to work and you know it."

"You will not believe the fabrications my mother would believe if they were to come from me," Tsunotarou boasts, his head tilted up in pride at being a mama's boy. You huff a fond laugh.

"Still, no matter how much she loves you I don't think she would appreciate you hiding a strange human in her home without her permission." You cradle his hand on your cheek with your own and lower it away. You're immediately mournful at the loss of his touch, but thankfully you have the impulse control to be able to release his hand and begin the walk back to your wagon, where you would then go home with all of your gathered ingredients and… go straight back to work.

Tsunotarou catches your hand before you can get far. You don't have to look to see the pleading expression on his face and you don't want to, instead smiling sadly at your feet.

"We shall get our own place then," he blurts out. "Just the two of us. Nobody can bother us ever again. There will be no wars. You will not have to work a day in your life. Let me take care of you."

You're too stunned to speak. His words leave you breathless, pondering if he knew the weight behind saying something like that, the implications. If he knows that his touch sends goosebumps rising through your skin, makes you yearn and ache as he laces his fingers with yours and squeezes.

You don't notice him sidling up closer behind you until he is. He tugs on your hand and turns you around with his other hand on the small of your back. You're face-to-chest with him, having to place your hands on his firm chest and crane your neck to look up at him. It's a mistake, because the desperation in his eyes frighteningly makes your resolve falter.

"Please," he whispers in a tone perhaps unbefitting of someone so imposing in appearance but to you could not be more fitting for your gentle, caring friend. "Stay with me."

You're helpless as he curls gentle clawed fingers around your jaw and leans down. Hot breath ghosts over your lips. You shudder, and the urge to close the distance is so overwhelming—

You pull away. Blink. Squint your eyes shut to force away the images that crop up in your mind of him. Him and you. Together.

"No," you whisper. "I… we can't."

He doesn't have to ask why. It's obvious enough based on the confused and hurt furrow of his brow.

There are many reasons why. You're afraid. You don't know his name. He loves his mother and his mother would hate him. He's noble-blooded and you're not. He's a mage and you're magicless. He's something much greater regardless of whatever kind of being he is. You're just you. You're useless. Can't even help your friends enough that they won't have to deal with all the bullshit with the Jabberwocks anymore and live peaceful lives again.

"It's… not the right time," you say with a small squeeze around his own hand. "We both have responsibilities that we have to put first."

You're not fully confident that the opportunity will arrive. Who knows how much longer the war will last. Tsunotarou might even find someone actually worthy of him by then, so you don't want to get your hopes up. At the very least you can reject him in a way that won't squash his, and you're relieved when his eyes brighten.

"Someday, then," he says, and it's not set in stone but still he sounds as if he's convinced it's written in the stars. Someday. Someday.

Tsunotarou bends at the waist and kisses your knuckles. Warmth gathers in your face and you have to force back a lopsided smile. Maybe it isn't so bad to have something to look forward to…

"Someday," you echo back.

----

You're startled awake by an odd sound.

You look down and realise you'd fallen asleep on your desk again. There's drool staining the page you'd been reading, a complicated recipe on a type of energy elixir you're trying to memorise. You wipe the corner of your mouth, no longer concerned at being annoyed by being woken up from a nice dream that's already fading from your mind, instead relieved that there's no one (Ace) around to make fun of you for drooling on invaluable books again…

Wait, where's Grim?

You remember that he had been dozing off in a corner of the desk, curled up on top of an open book with the excuse that he was "helping" (he does help, bless him, but sleep was calling to him in that particular moment) but he's not there. You sit up and look around. His bed by the window is empty, and so is every other surface in the room he could to lounge on regardless of whether or not it was a book or a scroll and you needed it.

It's not unlikely for him to wander off of course, but a part of you feels strangely antsy at having found yourself alone. Technically, you're not alone. Riddle and the others aren't around again unfortunately, having left to meet up with Wystan and his own soldiers with your fresh potions, but there are the ghosts of the castle lurking about somewhere or other and the castle staff, too. None of them are around at the moment though, so your surroundings feel eerily quiet and lonely.

That's likely why you feel so unnerved, you think, as you get up from your chair to begin looking for Grim. He's likely to be in the kitchen, the gluttonous thing. You stretch out your sore limbs and your stomach rumbles. Grabbing a snack doesn't sound too bad.

You fix the pouches on your belt that had gotten a bit crooked and leave your room. There's no one around that you can see. It's not unusual; it is a big castle, but for whatever reason you feel tingles go up your back, your body wary of a nonexistent danger behind you. You take a step forward—

"*FGNAAAAA!!! Unhand me! Myah! Henchman, *help!!!*"

"Grim?!" You whirl around at the sound of his voice and sprint in its direction. You skid to a stop, blood going cold when you see five people dressed in uniforms with the emblem of a creature with eyes of flame, rough hands trying to get a grip at Grim's wriggling body.

Jabberwocks. And they have Grim.

"That's the alchemist!" shouts out one of the Jabberwocks trying to secure Grim. The three currently unoccupied immediately lunge towards you and you barely slip away.

You almost trip over your feet as you try to reach into your pouches while at the same time evading the intruders. Grim is hissing and yelling. You grit your teeth and, with conviction, pull out a small bottle of translucent orange liquid. You toss it at their feet and the splatters of liquid that fly up into the air come to life and cranky fire lizards climb up their bodies and burn through their clothes. As they scream and try to throw off the lizards, you run past them with another potion in hand, ready to aim it at Grim's captors.

One of the two trying to keep him still intercepts your throw, grasping your wrist and twisting it painfully behind your back until you drop the potion. You yell out in pain, your vision blurry with tears as you're forced down to the floor.

"Get your hands off of my henchman!" Grim yowls. He leaps out of the grasp of the Jabberwock and blue fire spurts out of his mouth and catch on the clothes of your assailant.

He breathes in for a stronger burst of fire but the other Jabberwock grab him and frantically lock an anti-magic collar around his neck.

You kick and struggle beneath the Jabberwock on your back. You reach desperately for the other potions on your belt, all the while screaming a lot of choice words in a voice you hope is shrill enough to deafen or call other people to come to your and Grim's rescue.

You're quickly silenced with a gag, blindfolded, tied up, and unceremoniously slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You continue to kick and scream, but it's useless as magic swirls around you and both you and Grim vanish from the castle.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024,#20 do-over

Apparently there will be another AU happening. No beds but tats.

A Tattoo Shop AU.

I've no idea where this will go so I'll surprise us all. LOL

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part One (do-over)

Dr John Watson stood in front of 221 Baker Street and – for the first time in a very long time – felt anxious.

He was wondering why this actually happened to him right now. The London afternoon was mild and sunny, summer was about to begin and yet, an aura of foreboding seemed to hover around the well-kept Victorian building.

John shook himself mentally. This was completely ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was no danger.

For God’s sake, he had fought for Queen and Country in Afghanistan, had saved several lives and countless limbs in the field hospital and also on the battlefield under heavy fire. He had not felt anxious then. Wary, yes. Cautious, of course. High on adrenaline, surely.

He had been shot in the shoulder while he was on a scouting mission with his team and had woken up in his own field hospital. When his fellow army doctor had disclosed to John in blunt medical terms that he might lose his arm, then John had been frightened.

After a long rehab process the arm was functioning again but John had been honourably discharged because of an intermittant tremor in his hand that made him unsuitable to work as a field surgeon.

Two years ago, John had returned to London and after struggling for three months he had found work as a physician in a local clinic. He had soon met a wonderful nurse named Mary Morstan, fell in love with her and they had married quickly.

Which brought John back to the reason why he was standing in the middle of the pavement in front of 221 Baker Street, staring at the tattoo shop like a village idiot.

The tattoo on his right upper arm needed a do-over.

“White Pony Tattoo” was not what John had expected. It was located in a small shop with a red awning above its single window. There were no flashing neon signs or colourful and enlarged pictures of tattoo designs the artist had created. No advertising of the shop’s services whatsoever. Everything was clinical and sterile, even off-putting. Had it not been for the single metal sign placed in the middle of the window, no one would have thought a tattoo shop would be behind it.

Maybe it was the sign that made John feel so anxious.

It read “White Pony Tattoo” and showed a stylized white running pony on its right side. On the left the sign read “no arguing, no crying, no boring designs”. This did not bode well. Just by the look of it, John would never have thought about setting a foot in there.

Yet, John had done his fair share of internet research to find the best tattoo shops in London because he really did not want some would-be tattoo artist botch up his skin.

White Pony Tattoo had topped several lists. The only shortcoming that people regularly mentioned was that the artist was capricious. The lesser polite said that he was a total dick. However, Sherlock’s – John assumed it was a pen name -artistry was highly acclaimed and he had won several competitions over the last years. Getting an appointment was difficult and being accepted as a client was even more so. But sometimes, when Sherlock was interested enough, he accepted walk-ins.

John straightened his back, raised his chin, took a deep breath and opened the door of the tattoo shop. A melodious door bell chimed and announced his presence.

IIt was cool and dim inside the shop and it smelled faintly of a fresh lemon fragrance. A thick purple curtain behind the wooden counter closed off the rearmost part of the shop. Quiet classical violin music played in the background.

“Hello?” John called out, taking off his jumper to let his tattoo show. “Is there anybody here?”

The curtain moved and a man stepped up to the counter. It was easy to recognize Sherlock from the few pictures John had seen on the internet.

“Hello, I’m here for a do-over…” John began.

“Shut up.” Sherlock commanded. His baritone voice was silky and opulent just like the luscious black curls that framed his aristocratic and unusual face.

John was so surprised that he closed his mouth with an audible plop.

Sherlock’s eyes roamed over John’s face and upper arms, then the rest of his body. Piercing blue grey eyes took in every detail, precise like an x-ray machine or better, like a computer tomograph. They missed nothing, pinning John to the spot and stripping him down to his very bones, unable to hide anything. It was uncanny. Disconcerting.

“Firstly, it’s called a cover-up, as you should very well know.”

Sherlock chided, frowning. His voice rumbled like the high-end engine of a race car and filled John with an unknown desire.

“Secondly, I’ve already deduced what you want. I won’t do it because it’s boring.”

+++++

The one(s) who know and tell me where the shop's name comes from will get a cameo in this AU (nothing bad, I promise). Are you game?

tagging @peageetibbs @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

[silvyysthings]

Her empty jet is headed to LA, so no more about her in Canada. Thankfully, the Dune promo will end without any bullshit articles about the afterparty, like Wonka. All that's left is the official breakup article in TMZ, and we can close this awful chapter. They will probably stretch the official breakup news until she drops her fragrance on March 7th. Until then, I don't think we will see them together.

I also think the Deuxmoi breakup rumors are not random, as she not only put that in a story but also in a post. Remember, just like what DM did with their dating rumors—a story and a post—so it reaches more people as things will get official soon.

The really good thing to look forward to is that finally, after years, our boys will settle completely together with the kids in LA. Armie doesn't have to go away every other week.

I also sense a big move for Armie in terms of his professional life, as the heavy baggage in his personal life is lifted: investigation, divorce, custody, and the kids coming back to LA. Also, don't forget that Tim talking about Armie in GQ is not random, and Brian liking a pic of Armie is not random. Things are moving in a good direction.

Brian liking his pic was 😯😯

[slytherhys]

Keeping Secrets

Prompt: Cassian's allergies help him solve a mystery.

A/N: After a long writing slump I have returned with yet another Elriel fic. If you guys like it I might write a part II about elriel's not-so-secretive rendezvous... 🤭

Cassian couldn’t help but think, as he looked out the window from Rhys’s new office, that the City of Starlight was a sight to behold when painted in the colours of Spring.

Flowers seemed to bloom in every corner, painting the cobblestone pavement in purples and blues and pinks, greenery following close behind. Their fragrance spread through the streets as the sun shone brighter, its light sparkling against the surface of the Sidra. People walked to and fro the Palaces, laughter and joy in their voices as they visited their favourite shops and enjoyed the warmer temperatures. It wasn’t Cassian’s favourite season, but he had to admit it was a nice reprieve from the bitter cold winter they’d had to endure the past few months.

Besides, Spring in Velaris was never a nuisance to him – despite his allergies, it was rare that he would so much as sneeze.

Even if today, for some reason, Cassian couldn’t stop fucking sniffling.

Rhys eyed him with a raised brow, sending the tissue box on his desk a pointed look - like he had done many, many times since he had first arrived. Cassian pointedly ignored him.

“The season doesn’t seem to agree with you, brother.” The asshole said, pushing the tissue box in his direction.

Cassian pointedly ignored that as well, sniffling indignantly and moving away from the window – even if it did little to relieve him. The entire office smelled like those damned flowers, making his nose run and itch like it did on the rare occasions where he had been unfortunate enough to visit the Spring Court. 

It was Elain’s fault, really. When he had first gotten to the River House - albeit an hour early - he wasn’t entirely expecting her to be the first person he’d see. He knew well enough the garden in the back was being tended to by her - something he clearly had failed to remember when he pulled Elain into a warm hug, pressing a small kiss to her cheek before setting her down. Needless to say before he could even say hi Cassian was sneezing - not once, not twice but three times. Elain had laughed softly, apologising and explaining that she had received a new batch of flowers that she had just carried to the back to plant for the first time. Her sister, of course, would be the one getting the flowers first. For her kindness, El had explained. 

He adored Elain - truly, he did. He just couldn’t understand why, exactly, he couldn’t stop sneezing and sniffling hours after being near her. 

He had gotten better for just a few moments - just until Rhys and Azriel barged into the office. Rhys first, frown on his face that he assumed had something to do with Nyx (apparently the High Lord didn’t like the fact his son’s first words had been mama ), and Azriel just a few minutes later, looking more flushed than Cassian had ever seen him. He had questioned neither - he definitely didn’t ask any of them why they’d both been over 15 minutes late to a meeting that was going to end up being nearly two hours long. 

So what if he had to leave Nesta in their bed, forgoing her morning cuddles in favour of a stupid meeting that they’d both been late too? So what if every minute they were late meant another minute away from her? Cassian wouldn’t point it out. He was a General, the Commander of the Night Court’s armies - he was above such petty feelings and childish grudges.

He sniffled - indignantly, of course, not because of his allergies - stepping further away from the windows once Rhysand finally concluded their meeting. “Well, I know you both have no concept of time, but I plan to meet Nesta by the Sidra for lunch, and I'm already fifteen minutes late.” 

He was above such petty feelings and childish grudges most times .

Rhys smirked, opening the door of his office, not even bothering to acknowledge his remark as he leisurely strolled down the hallway, hands inside his pockets in a show of ease that had taken him centuries to achieve. Cassian fought the urge to remind him of his younger years and all the embarrassing shit their High Lord had done, just for the sake of it. He was a good friend, after all.

 Azriel followed close behind, Cassian grumbling as he joined him, following Rhys to the foyer. 

“You don’t seem to be in a good mood, brother.” Azriel smirked slightly, his flushed skin glowing. But before he could remark on that unusual occurrence, Cassian sneezed. 

Four times. 

Azriel grinned. 

“And why are you in such a good mood?” He muttered, surreptitiously reaching into his pocket for a tissue he had stolen earlier when no one was watching, observing Azriel with a critical eye. Because he truly was in a good mood - which was odd, to say the least. Besides the flushed skin, his hair seemed rumpled, and even if the bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever, there was a glitter to his hazel eyes that told Cassian it wasn’t exactly nightmares keeping him up at night. Even his leathers seemed more rumpled than ever, dirt under his boots and…was that a flower pressed on the toe of his left boot?

He also hadn’t missed the fact that Azriel had chosen to follow Rhys and leave through the front door like a normal person, instead of simply flying out the open balcony like he usually did. 

Cassian frowned. “Late night, brother?” He asked, just as they reached the kitchen. Azriel’s expression betrayed nothing, his face as stoic as ever.

“Early morning.” He mumbled, a light twitch to his lips. There and gone in a second. Cassian narrowed his eyes, failing to understand what that actually meant, but the sound of two familiar voices stopped him from probing. 

Feyre and Elain stood by the doors leading to the gardens, talking softly and laughing until they both noticed their presence. Cassian felt, rather than saw, Azriel go still next to him as he eyed them both, eyes assessing as they usually did. Rhys, however, seemed to relax - like he always did - as soon as his mate’s eyes found his, pulling her into a kiss that felt more intimate than it should’ve been in the presence of three other people. Feyre giggled, slapping him softly in the chest, a blush taking over her pretty face as they spoke softly with each other. 

Cassian quickly looked away, choosing to eye Elain instead. She, too, had a healthy blush to her cheeks, her hair a bit messy, a loose bun keeping it from going to her face. Her hands were playing with the straw hat she was holding, eyes flickering between him and Azriel, something secretive shining in them as she watched them both. 

Cassian ignored the tingling in his nose. “How are the new flowers coming along, El?” He smiled at his sister-in-law, not missing the happiness in her entire expression that seemed to grow every day that passed, just as she found her place in their court. The last few months, especially. 

Elain’s cheeks darkened further, her eyes widening slightly as she stared up at him. “Oh,” she laughed nervously. “Very well, thank you.” She said as she reached for her hair, letting it down softly as her eyes flickered to her sister and Rhys, quickly turning back to Azriel and Cassian when she saw them kissing once more. The scent that had followed him to the office earlier hit him full force again just as she let her hair down and before he could even mutter his confusion, he was sneezing again. Once, twice, three times. 

Elain smiled apologetically, but Cassian was entirely too focused on something else to even notice. A small flower , woven into her hair. A familiar sight, he thought, just one he couldn’t exactly place. 

Before he could think about it, he was reaching for it, taking Elain and himself by surprise with his sudden move. 

“You have something-” He trailed off, holding the small blue flower in his hand, trying to place it. 

“Oh.”  Elain chuckled softly, taking a step back as if to protect him from any more sneezing. He was grateful for it. “It’s the new flowers we got today.” She explained, smiling sweetly. “I spent the entire morning planting them in Feyre’s gardens.” 

Cassian frowned, eyeing Elain again. “Are you sure we don’t have these somewhere else?” 

Elain laughed, Az going suddenly very quiet. Cassian eyed him, oddly feeling as if he had been handed the easiest puzzle piece and still failing it somehow. “I’m sure, Cass. I ordered them specifically for Feyre’s new gardens a few months ago.” She eyed them both quizzically, something flashing in her eyes as she looked at Azriel, eyes widening comically as she backtracked. “Or… Or maybe I got some for Nesta? It’s happened before-”

“No, that’s not it.” He shook his head, eyeing Azriel closely. His daring eyes, his clothes, his boots…

And the fucking blue flower pressed to the toe of them. 

Cassian felt his eyes widen, his heart beating loudly before his brain could even catch up with what his body had already figured out. 

“Holy fuck, are you-” the rest of his words muffled by Azriel’s scarred hands, silenced by the flashing in the shadowsinger’s eyes that warned him about the dangers of even thinking about whatever was about to come out of his mouth. 

Elain looked entirely too calm - if only not for the panic in her pretty eyes as she eyed them both, unsure of what to say. Cassian wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her explain anything, if he was being honest. 

Her flushed skin, her rumpled hair… Not only from spending an entire morning working under the heat of the sun. The flower in her hair, suspiciously identical to the one pressed against the toe of Azriel’s boot. Not the sole of it, but the toe , as if he had been kneeling …

Oh, he was going to be sick. 

“What’s happening right now?” Feyre’s voice broke him out of his stupor, Azriel’s eyes flickering to their High Lady even if his hand remained pressed against his mouth. Cassian pushed his brother away, gasping for air. Had the asshole forgotten his stuffy nose or was he actually trying to kill him? 

Rhys sighed. “Don’t worry yourself about them, Feyre darling.” He said, taking her hand in his and pulling her in the direction of the front door. “You all know where the door is, so please make use of it sooner rather than later.” He said over his shoulder, just before turning around and sending Elain a charming smile. “Except you, Elain. Make yourself at home.” And then he was gone, his mate under his arm as they strolled down the sidewalk. 

Cassian stood dumbfounded, mouth gaping as his eyes flickered between the two people in front of him. Azriel simply rolled his eyes, as if Cassian was the one being dramatic. Elain simply tilted her head as she watched him with open curiosity. 

He wanted to throttle them both.

“How long?” He sputtered. “How did it even… What…” He took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. “Are you guys out of your mind?” He whined. “If Rhys finds out-”

“He won’t.” Azriel said with deadly calm. As if it were truly that simple. 

But Cassian was undeterred. “He will if you’re fucking in his garden, you genius.” He drawled, not missing how Elain pressed her face against Azriel’s stomach, trying to hide her laughter. As if it were funny . Cassian didn’t even blink at their sudden familiarity. As if, deep down, it simply made sense.

“He won’t find out, Cass.” He assured quietly, just as his hand reached out to play with her hair, stroking it, his eyes softening slightly as he looked down at the female next to him. 

No, he couldn’t say he was surprised. 

Sure, it had taken him by surprise, but not because he hadn’t seen it coming, he supposed. After months of odd behaviour from his brother, months of seeing him weirdly… content. Not to mention the fights over Elain’s privacy, the discomfort over Lucien’s presence…It was as if everything simply clicked. 

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. Nesta would become insufferable once she got wind of this.

“Does Lucien-”

“No.” But it wasn’t Azriel that interrupted him, even if his brother moved slightly, as if to protect Elain from his words. Elain’s voice, however, left no room for questions, almost daring him to ask anything else. Cassian knew she had already made herself clear over where she stood concerning Vanserra’s affection. 

Cassian also knew what Nesta would do to him if he found out he had told his sister that she should take the male’s feelings into consideration. Such conversation had taken place when they had made a bet, only days after the solstice last year. I’m pretty sure they’re hooking up , Nesta had said casually as she watched Az and Elain talk softly on the other side of the room. Cassian had laughed - loudly - which eventually led to a bet being made. Nesta had looked entirely too smug when he had agreed to it, but he hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

He was seriously regretting his own life choices. 

Cassian sighed. “I hope you guys know what you’re doing.” 

Elain squared her shoulders, raising her chin as she looked at Cassian. Yet, she never once stepped away from Az. “We do.” She said, a quiet conviction to her voice that he wouldn’t dare question. She gulped, squeezing Azriel’s scarred hand. An assurance , Cassian realised. 

That Az didn’t immediately pull his hand away was probably the most surprising thing happening in the past few hours. 

“There are some choices that are worth being made, Cass.” She simply said, as if such words said enough already. Cassian supposed they did. To them at least. As if  they contained a multitude of feelings, of secrets that no one could really understand but them - no matter how much others tried to question them.  

Elain tilted her head, brown eyes assessing him in a way that made him question if she truly saw more than she let on. “No matter what or who might stand against them.”

A quiet promise, he presumed. A threat to those who weren’t even present to hear it, as if Elain was stealing herself and Az, for what lay ahead. Cassian wasn’t sure what to say, what assurances to offer, what support to give - not when the future seemed so uncertain to all of them. 

But Cassian couldn’t worry about that right now - not when he had to tell Nesta she had won the bet.

Mother save him .

[wilygryphon]

Akumaclass Harem AU

Marinette has a crush (whether she yet knows it or not) on all of her classmates, and when she kisses their Akuma forms (either as Ladybug or as Marinette), their Akumas’ connection to Hawk Moth severs and they regain their normal minds and are able to switch between civilian and Akuma modes.  This also prevents Hawk Moth from Reakumatizing them, as technically they still have an Akuma.

It first happened with Lady Wifi.  Her Akumatized best friend had her locked to the wall and her partner trapped, and she was making a big show of how she had full control of the situation and was going to unmask her to all of Paris.  Ladybug was very attracted to the presented power and was overcome with the urge to kiss her, to the surprise of both of them.  Alya’s normal mind and morality were restored, and Hawk Moth’s connection to her was broken, and she quickly dismissed the livestream sigil and the locks.  She apologizes for everything and drops her Lady Wifi appearance while Ladybug uses the Miraculous Cure.  Marinette wonders what could have happened, but Tikki has no answers that would explain it as being a power of the Ladybug Miraculous.

Evillustrator- Marinette explains the situation to Sabrina adequately, and Sabrina is touched that Mari would agree to the date to help Nath and keep Chloé safe.  On the date, Marinette is genuinely charmed by Evillustrator/Nathaniel and gives him a kiss on the cheek.  This has the same effect as on Lady Wifi and Nath comes to his senses while still appearing as Evillustrator.  Marinette admits that she worked with Chat Noir to trap and Deakumatize him, but Nath tells her that she did the right thing even if he doesn’t like being tricked.  Chat reports to Chloé to tell her that she is safe now.  Marinette wonders how she has this power, and muses the possibilities of if it is a hidden power of the Ladybug Miraculous or something akin to True Love’s Kiss.  In the meantime, she offers to go on a real date with Nath.  When Marinette relays the night’s events to Sabrina, the latter girl is dismayed as she wanted to ask Mari out on a date, but Mari agrees to that.  So she starts dating both Nathaniel and Sabrina, and both are willing to help her with her crush on Adrien.

Ladybug gets this to work with Horrificator but ironically fails to perform it on Dark Cupid.  When Nino tries to tell Marinette he likes her but panics and says he likes Alya and Marinette comes up with ideas to set them up, Alya is annoyed in part because she is in love with Ladybug after the Lady Wifi kiss.  But Alya and Nino still end up falling for each other and start dating.  Ladybug later uses her magic kiss on Princess Fragrance and Reflekta (but not Gamer, Vanisher, or Antibug).  After she comes to understand Chloé’s situation, her pushed-down feelings spark up more clearly rather than having Chat Cataclysm the Bee Comb.  She still takes the Miraculous back to Master Fu and discuss the whole “Akuma Cure Kiss” thing.  While she does not have the Miraculous, Chloé cannot become Queen Wasp again, as the Akuma is in the Miraculous, but she could be Akumatized without it.  Marinette takes part in the fight against Reverser in civilian form due to her Ladybug form being reversed and made clumsy so Marinette has the opposite state, and she kisses them to bring Marc to their senses.  So by the time we get to Heroes’ Day, Marinette is dating Nathaniel, Sabrina, and Marc, while Ladybug has Alya, Mylène, Rose, Juleka, and Chloé pining for Ladybug.

When Vanisher follows Ladybug in an attempt to find the Guardian, Ladybug detransforms and kisses her as Marinette to free her from Hawk Moth’s control.  Every Love-Redeemed Akuma aids Team Miraculous in fighting Scarlet Moth’s army, while Chloé starts out as Queen Bee in the fight before shifting to Queen Wasp to clear out large numbers of Scarlet Akumas when she thinks of it.  Ladybug gets kisses in on Timebreaker (really easy because Scarlet Moth had her stand by because he remembered that she is the one Akuma he doesn’t want to use) and Stoneheart (kept occupied by Horrificator).