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moonydustx · 7 months ago

Note

Law buying an Bepo bear to his shy girlfriend!

I loved the idea! I made a small adjustment on the "buy" issue, I hope you don't hate me for it. And of course, I hope you like it.

The Bear and The Target

Lawx F!Reader

warnings: fluff, F!Reader is a little more shy/reserved in this one, Law is a great boyfriend (as always)

a/n: I really loved this idea, Law doing cute things for his s/o is my weakness.

requests here | rules and guides | masterlist

Comments, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

The Park's lights almost blinded you, as well as people pushing against each other, competing to get to the most sought-after attractions first. Despite having your arm side by side with your boyfriend and watching him dodge the countless proposals of "try this game and win thousands of berris" "bet and compete for the top prize", you were still dazzled by how magical the place seemed. .

"Are the two annoying people going to be a couple for the whole park?" Penguin appeared at your side, taking your arm and watching Law sulk. "Captain, don't be annoying."

"Unfortunately, I'm here for work" he pointed out, turning his gaze towards you. "But you do not."

"And I can't go to work with you?" you asked

"It's not really a job, I just need to figure something out." he tried to dodge the question, not wanting to give too many details. "In the meantime, why don't you enjoy a little night with them?"

"We can go on the roller coaster and then go to the monster house."

"No monster house." you and Bepo responded in unison, both of you clearly unhappy with the proposal. "Can we go in the bumper cars?" Bepo proposed and saw you nod.

"See you later then?" you turned to your boyfriend, who just nodded and watched as you and the group of friends left.

As much as Law was against lying in any situation in a relationship, he had just lied to you and it wasn't one of the things he was most proud of, but he had a good reason.

A few months ago, on another island, he had seen you looking at a huge teddy bear and not buying it. It took a few days for the subject to come up and he asked you why you didn't ask and again, shyness was an excuse.

Law was a reserved person, by pure choice - and almost as a personal whim. However, you were indeed shy. The only people who could break your shell a little were your crewmates and even Law had had trouble starting to flirt with you, not being able to know if he was understanding the few signals you gave in the wrong way.

For that reason - and because his eyes almost exploded when he saw you do or have something cute - he knew that that park was the best place to find what he was looking for so much, that cute and huge bear.

He just didn't expect to find exorbitant prices or bears uglier than any patch he had ever heard of, it was impossible to find something perfect.

In the distance, he could see you and the other crew members gathering around a little tent, as he got closer he saw it was one of those old throwing games, where there was definitely some trickery hidden. Seeing you further away from the others, he arrived quietly, stopping right behind you.

"What are we doing?" When he saw you turn around, scared, his hands soon found your shoulders, reassuring you. "It's just me."

"It makes me calmer, but not less scared." you laughed, your hands itching to clasp against Law, but it wasn't something the two of you usually did in public. "Well, we're trying to win something."

"And you, why are you staying away?"

"This guy at this stand is one of those funny charlatan types who love to meddle." You held back a laugh, seeing his expression darken.

Before you could continue complaining about the man, Law's mind immediately wandered to what was in the background: an immense, white, perfectly stitched polar bear that was just an orange uniform away from transforming into Bepo.

"I am going to try." Law's speech surprised you, making you follow him to the edge of the bench.

"The pretty lady decided to try?" the man said in the most charlatan way possible, but Law responded immediately.

"No, in this case, her boyfriend." He took out some coins and placed them in front of the man. "Which one do I have to hit to win one of the prizes in that row?"

"That one." he pointed to the smallest of them all, further back. "But I warn you that it may take some time."

"Captain, everyone tried and no one succeeded." Bepo commented, clearly more concerned than he should be with the simple game. Meanwhile, you remained closer to him, silently watching the bet unfold.

"There, five rings, five chances." the man passed the pieces to Law.

He tried a few times in a row and failed each time. Both Law and his friends were already sighing frustrated with the fact that almost twenty-five rings thrown in a row had escaped the hole.

"There has to be some trickery in this." Law snapped, frustrated with not getting the bear he knew you wanted. "You're fooling us all!"

"Me cheating?" the man said cynically as he accepted more coins and gave Law more chances. "You offend me like this."

"Well, captain…" Shachi approached his side and picked up one of the rings, slamming it against the counter in front of the two. Soon after, he threw a small piece of paper towards the bow and hit it. "See, you're the bad one, captain."

Law quickly connected the dots. The rings were made of some metal material - which could interfere with the weight or even have a magnet pulling it - and the paper ball was not. One look was enough for Shachi and Penguin to understand that they had to act.

"I'll try again." Law muttered, more as a point of warning to his colleagues than anything else.

"Come on man, confess, there's a scam here." Penguin pulled the guy's arm in a falsely gentle way, stealing your attention along with it. "There's no point in deceiving us."

"I got it!" Law's surprised voice drew the two of you back to the captain's attempts, who was now smiling broadly in the man's direction. "So, my prize…"

"How did you get?" the man shouted indignantly, going to check if he had actually succeeded. "I mean, okay, you can choose your prize."

"Come on, you choose." Law turned to you, seeing your eyes light up at the proposal. "Although I already suspect what your decision is."

"The cute Bepo over there?" Your voice was excited, but in a way that only he heard.

Immediately, Law pointed to the huge white stuffed polar bear, which the man reluctantly removed from the wall. Law's laughter remained contained as he watched you almost itch to reach the bear that the man handed you.

"It's so cute!" You squeezed him, burying your face against his soft fur. "It's so good, it's the best gift I've ever gotten."

"This version of Bepo at least lets us squeeze him." Ikkaku joined you, squeezing the teddy bear as well and listening to the real version of Bepo's mumbles.

"You guys squeeze me too much sometimes, I need to breathe."

"We have the need to squeeze cute little things!" you pressed the plush against your arms.

There was a little relay of who would squeeze your bear - which yes, you nicknamed B2 or as Bepo, the second of his name - until they were back at Polar Tang.

"So, did you like the gift?" Law's voice entering the room was enough to cheer you up. "Does that mean he's already stolen my side of the bed?"

"Just until you come here."

"As if I wasn't already offended since you have to squeeze cute things." he grumbled and it only took seconds for you to throw yourself into his arms, covering any trace of skin and face you could find with smacking kisses.

"You.are.the.best.boyfriend.in.the.world." with each pause, it was a new time that your lips met Law's, this time causing a louder laugh to echo from him. "I loved the gift."

"And I'm glad you liked it." He quickly kissed your lips. "I'm going to take a shower, then can we spend some time together?"

"Me, you and B2?"

"Okay, just tonight. I'm surrounded by bears that give me a hard time." he pretended to be offended, knowing that your reaction would be another kiss on him.

Despite the grumblings - and the exorbitant amount of money spent on the attempts - the vision Law found was worth it. You lay on his bed, one of his t-shirts on your body and attached to your arms, the huge white bear. You matched cute things and for him, that would be worth any game - even if a certain devil fruit power had helped him this time.

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #fluff

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sleepingdeath-light · 10 months ago

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relationship hcs ; shadow milk cookie

requested by ; anonymous (24/01/24)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; shadow milk cookie

outline ; “So I am a little OBSESSED in love with shadow milk

So could I get some Shadow milk relation ship hc’s?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

if there was a need to describe shadow milk cookie’s approach to your relationship, it could be done in just the one word: playful

whenever you’re stressed, he puts on elaborate productions of magic and puppetry to brighten your day and make you smile: funny voices, summoned puppets, plot lines that either touch upon your favourite tropes or make fun of the people that upset you — he never holds back with you

if you’re experiencing a low mood or crying, then he’s upping the dramatics and repeating all of your favourite puns and jokes to pull you out of it and make you laugh — he dresses like a jester all of the time, so it’s safe to say that the man doesn’t mind making a fool of himself for your sake

he’s extremely physically affectionate and can go from slow and passionate to cheeky and playful in a second — alternating between loosely wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you sit comfortably on his lap, and suddenly tightening his grip on your waist to stop you from getting away as he nips and kisses and tickles your skin until you’re laughing so hard you’re crying and clutching at your aching sides and trying desperately to squirm out of his grip

equally his kisses can be playful and cutesy or passionate and messy depending on his mood

most of the time they’re done for a sort of dramatic flair on top of his usual public displays of affection that usually get you stared at in confusion — consisting of him grabbing you by your shoulders or the side of the face before wetly kissing you on the lips or cheek whilst making a very unnecessary and over the top ‘mwah!’-esque popping sound (he may even stop at the last second and lick you instead just to make you laugh)

but there are times when that playful facade slips and his kisses become much more frantic, passionate, and hot — when the act slips and you’re left face-to-face with a more possessive, seductive, needy side of him that only comes out when he’s so desperate for your touch that he’d sooner slip into your skin with you than let you go, or when someone else has made him jealous

those kisses look a bit more like this: starting with him grabbing you by the waist or neck or sides and all but crashing your body and lips against his, alternating between biting and licking your lips until you breathlessly give in and part your lips for him, letting his hands wander just enough to send a message as you cling to him like a lifeline, and only pulling apart when you’re starting to struggle to breathe — separating by mere millimetres with a web of saliva connecting you both before he giggles, pecks your lips, and lets you go (leaving you breathless, aching, and somehow wanting for more as you watch him practically skip away to do whatever it is that he had planned)

your laughter is his absolute favourite sound in the world and he will do anything it takes to make sure that he gets to hear it for the rest of his life

he wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill or torment someone for you if only you asked — hell, you don’t even need to ask, the second it’s clear that someone has made you upset, stressed, or uncomfortable, he’s finding their location and plotting to either take them out completely or forcibly make them a part of his act (it’s not too difficult to take control of someone, after all, and he’s certainly done worse for less… and what better cause is there for mayhem than protecting his partner’s honour and well-being?)

all of his pet names for you are as over the top and random as you would expect from someone like him, including all sorts of nicknames from inanimate objects to puns relating to your name and/or interests to random animals that remind him of you to the most disgustingly cheesy terms of endearment that he can think of, to anything in between — and he’s happy to respond to anything you choose to call him, no matter how ridiculous of a pet name it may be

he’s extremely quick to jealousy and has been known to lash out at anyone who dares to get too close to you for his comfort (unless it’s one of a few select individuals that he’s approved of being in your presence) — it’s actually the main thing you argue about when it comes to your relationship, but that’s not going to change anytime soon so you may just be better off accepting that side of him rather than trying to strong arm him into being a better person

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #crk fluff #crk x reader #cookie run fluff #cookie run x reader #shadow milk cookie fluff #shadow milk cookie x reader

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tossawary · 7 months ago

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I'm thinking about "What if the main character did not have a secret, powerful family background and was just some random person?" AUs for different stories, because I personally find that situation more compelling most of the time and I think it introduces more interesting struggles. While thinking about a bunch of other stories, I ended up thinking about Aragorn in "Lord of the Rings".

Now, Aragorn is a special case because 1) I wouldn't really call him THE main character and the "noble" members of the Fellowship are well-contrasted by the hobbits. The hobbits may be mostly Shire gentry (except for Sam), but on the grand stage of Middle Earth, they're still unimpressive nobodies. Frodo is already our ordinary hero. 2) Aragorn's road to kingship comes with him struggling with his ancestor's failures and accepting the heavy burdens that come with being Isildur's heir. This is specifically an arc of a character struggling with their family history. I am absolutely not saying that Aragorn being royalty makes LOTR a bad story and that it would be better if he was just some random guy. I think this is a well-written character storyline that is a key feature of the overall story.

But I do think it would be really funny to write fanfiction where Aragorn wasn't Arathorn's son. (There is the issue of the heritage that makes Aragorn age slowly, but maybe you could wiggle that so that Aragorn has that kind of heritage from a different source?) Like, the line of Isildur has died out, and let's say that Aragorn's mother takes shelter in Rivendell with her son, and kid Aragorn ends up wandering around to the broken sword and picking up the handle. And either Aragorn's mother lies to Elrond about Aragorn being Arathorn's son or Elrond happens across kid Aragorn with the broken sword and thinks... "Hey, what if we just... lied about it?"

Now, this could end really badly! As I vaguely understand it, the Silmarillion (which I have not read) contains a bunch of examples where lying did not go well, so maybe this lie is how Middle Earth falls into chaos in this AU. Whoops.

But even though this breaks some plotlines, I'm a sucker for adoption storylines. I love adoption being treated as important. It's compelling to imagine Elrond and Aragorn's mother carefully explaining the situation with the sword to him, and then this child just... stubbornly deciding that he's going to become Isildur's heir. Maybe Aragorn's determination falters at some point, he gives up on the idea, and he later has to return to Elrond as an adult and persuade him that no, he means it this time, mankind isn't just about bloodlines, he's going to pick up this burden on behalf of all of humanity. I think that there's something powerful in a person deciding that no, I'm not of Isildur's blood, but I have his same potential for success and for failure, and I'm here. I'm fighting. I picked up the broken sword and that's good enough, isn't it? Who are you to say I'm not his heir? I'm HERE.

I think there's powerful magic in that too. (Also, Arathorn is dead and getting adopted as a father by some random kid. Sure. Okay. I think that's just funny.)

(Also, oh my, there is SO MUCH tragedy if Aragorn being Isildur's heir is a lie and Boromir died believing it. The GUILT. The GUILT that Aragorn would feel when Boromir says, "I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king." Like, oh man, now you HAVE TO make it true.)

Now, maybe Aragorn doesn't become King of Gondor in this AU or maybe he does. Maybe Faramir becomes king instead. Maybe it becomes well known by the end of the journey that Aragorn isn't a blood descendant of Isildur and maybe it's a secret known only to the Fellowship. I'd like to think that he still marries Arwen. I like the idea of Arwen happily and knowingly marrying some nobody lying about his heritage and Elrond internally being like, "This is kind of on me."

The most important thing here is that it would be so fucking funny if Aragorn (and Elrond and Gandalf and Galadriel) successfully lied to Sauron the Deceiver. Sauron's like, "Oh? A secret heir come out of hiding to fight against me? Sounds legit." And at some point near the end, just before some hobbits chuck a ring into a volcano behind his back, Sauron is looking at Aragorn like, "Wait a minute, what the fuck, you lying little SHIT."

(Or Sauron finds out via Pippin that Aragorn is lying and feels SO SMUG about how he's going to crush a false king, which just adds to Aragorn's whole "made you look!" distraction keeping Sauron from noticing the hobbits sneaking into Mount Doom.)

#tossawary tolkien #fic ideas #aragorn #elrond #long post #spoilers #make the main character a rando au

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monodramatic-cannibal · 5 months ago

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Realized I never posted my Crossmare ship kid.

So here's Raiden :D I will put into for him under the cut if ayone is curious about him.

Head Canon voice: (Wanderer ((English)) from genshin impact) (Personality wise he's also quite similar to Wanderer too)

More info on his design:

He’s actually goop like Nightmare, it's just his goop is different colours. Has claws which they’re red like the marking on his face. When viewing his eye from the side the star pupil can be seen slightly above his eye. The skeletal things on his tentacles can be shot out/thrown as a sort of weapon can regenerate. The main necklace part is actually a gem. His legs have the same gradient that's on his face (the dark to light, doesn’t have red in the gradient on his legs)

Some info on family:

Raiden was raised primarily by Nightmare and Cross, but had the rest of the murder trio to look after him too. To him Killer is like an older brother, whereas Dust and Horror more so feel like uncles to him. Nightmare was the one to give him an education, as well as Raiden picking up a sharp tongue from him. Cross was the one to train him in combat in both physically fighting and being combat smart too. As well as dealing with Raiden’s emotional needs. (Both Nightmare and Cross may do the other’s role from time to time. E.g. Rai learning more dumb insults from Cross, or Nightmare providing a more logical emotional approach to a situation)

The way Nightmare and Cross raised Raiden is they both agreed to not push Raiden in a direction to be good or bad. Both of them would like Raiden to be a better person than them. But they know they can’t say much given how they are, especially now with how smart Raiden is, if they tried to push him to be good he’d probably use it against them. So they feel they made the right call with raising him.

Raiden was about before Dream/Nightmare made the truce, Nightmare kept Dream from knowing about Raiden, not wanting his enemy to know about his kid. But Nightmare never talked bad about Dream around Raiden, wanting Raiden to make his own opinions on Dream without his input. A year or two after the truce became a thing (around when Raiden was 14) Nightmare did tell Raiden if he wanted to go seek out his brother he could, but Raiden didn’t care too much to know him. Dream (and his group) only found out about Raiden recently.

Raiden doesn’t care too much about Dream or his group. Nor does he make much of an effort to get to know them. Finds them weird.

Who Raiden feels is his family: Nightmare: Dad (on rare occasions calls him Old Man) Cross: Pa / Pops Killer: (older brother figure) Dust: (Uncle figure) Horror: (Uncle figure) Error: (unsure but sees him as family) (will add more when I figure out more about Rai)

His magic/attacks/etc:

A lot of the magic he can preform have an ‘X’ theme to them. E.g. things like this (this being one of Arlecchino’s attacks in genshin, but I’m stealing its look for Raiden)

When his attacks aren’t ‘X’ themed they tend to look like lightning bolts (him living up to his name)

He can create a small (unseen) bubble around himself, when people enter this bubble they’re in an awake nightmare. Raiden being able to control the space within this bubble manipulating reality within this bubble as if it was a nightmare. Though this drains Raiden very quickly.

He also has blades he can summon. To most these blades appear to be shaped like lightning bolts, when in reality Raiden actually based it off of Cross’s scar. And at this point Raiden is too embarrassed to admit that to anyone.

---------

He doesn’t fully understand how to express emotions or how to understand others emotions. He struggles a bit, he still does express emotions, it’s just they may be a bit random sometimes. E.g. he’s annoyed most of the time, or may find things funny in situations he shouldn’t. He is a good person, and does have manners. It’s just he’s selective on who he decides to offer his polite side too.

Him being somewhat monotone and having a sharp tongue means he tends to upset or anger people who don’t understand how he speaks. He also doesn’t like most people, is very picky with who he decides to get along with. So even if someone can understand him there's a chance that Raiden will just be disgusted with them for no reason. He very much struggles to hold his tongue, often speaking without thinking. Which sometimes lands him in trouble.

Finds it hard to comprehend how others think, especially if they have a drastically different view to him. Will basically have a crisis thinking about how others have thoughts that he doesn’t know. (Not main character syndrome, more so people exist and have their own thoughts and feelings that I can’t understand, and I don’t like that)

He very much adores his family, and as much as he tends to insult everyone (Nightmare is the only one in the group that can escape his insults), he will apologize if he does feel like he’s actually upset one of them.

He is very much a family person, preferring to stick to his family and people they get along with over making his own friends. Doesn’t mean he won’t make his own friends, it’s just easier for him to stick to people who can understand him or explain to others how to understand him.

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Some info on the world/au:

In the world of this au both Nightmare’s and Dream’s group called a truce, Error and Ink also have their own separate truce between them. Basically for them not to cause any drastic positivity/negativity but both (Nightmare/Dream) allowed to step in if the balance of emotions in the multiverse gets out of whack.

The au follows more fanon interpretations of the groups, as well as my own head canons and such, I may or may not change lore as well for some characters.

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yuri-is-online · 1 year ago

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Been brainrotting lately and now I present to you what I think is an underused story beat for Yuu. What if “Yuu” isn’t even the prefect’s real name?

Considering that Yuu’s first experience in Twisted Wonderland is waking up in a coffin, wandering around an obviously foreign place, and being questioned by a suspicious man in a crow mask surrounded by people in black hooded robes… I just think most people would not give their real name in such a sketchy situation.

Fast forward to when Yuu is more comfortable with the cast and there is both comedy and angst potential here. On one hand, the reactions to the deception could be pretty funny. (Cue a “woe is me” from Crowley. Of course he can’t find a way home for you when he doesn’t have your real name!) On the other, this could be a great way of exploring the prefect having a crisis. Yuu already lost so much in being taken to Twisted Wonderland, and now in a way even the prefect’s name has been taken.

What do you think?

waking up in a coffin, wandering around an obviously foreign place, and being questioned by a suspicious man in a crow mask surrounded by people in black hooded robes…

Annon, annon, annon, when you put it like that it sounds like Yuu woke up in the middle of a cult ritual of some sort. Which I suppose if you were an edgy Night Raven student idia you might argue that the enrollment ceremony totally is as an excuse not to go

But to be more serious, I have seen a few memes about this concept and I like it a lot σ(￣、￣=) It's a fun character concept, it's not everyday you get a chance to re-invent yourself completely.

That being said, just based off of the few dialogue options Yuu has at the start, I think Yuu is implied to believe that they are dreaming:

Which honestly doesn't make this idea any less valid. If you're dreaming about waking up in the middle of some weird necromancer's rite, why not give him a fake name? It's not meant to be serious anyway. Just go with the flow and hope things don't get too weird (and get offended when your dream doesn't give you magic powers) until it's too late and you realize everyone thinks your name really is that bad joke you made.

If you want to get darker, maybe Yuu really did think they died. A black carriage pulling a coffin really only goes to a funeral, and death has been depicted as an unmanned coach with black horses. Maybe Yuu is only just coming to grips with the fact that they really are alive when they see Riddle overblot and he hurts them. Maybe they now are sitting next to two people who have started to think about them as a friend, a really close one. Maybe they think Yuu is really brave because they charged headlong into danger without a second thought, and won, twice now. Maybe Yuu cries themselves to sleep that night because in a way... you died so yuu could live.

As for reactions, Crowley and the other staff members I think would be the most dramatic, followed by Adeuce and Grim. Jack I can see accepting your reasons and not thinking too hard about it, maybe even respecting your survival instincts, while Epel... well he says he's mad but mostly he's just concerned. He knows what it feels like to have two dueling parts of yourself and trying to find the middle ground. Ortho would be excited, you have a secret identity just like a magical girl/super sentai/anime idol/superhero take your pick really. He certainly doesn't mind getting to know you all over again.

Sebek screams at you for being a threat to Wakasama but it's clear to everyone who actually knows him that he's really just worried about the amount of stress you put on yourself. He would hate for you to have the same issues with self loathing he does. And Malleus? Well he lied to you about who he was because he was worried you would be afraid, even though you didn't know he existed. It would be very petty for him to hold a grudge against you for doing the same.

In general I think this would be something the others would have an easier time understanding as opposed to Yuu's sense of alienation or loneliness at not having magic. Identity issues are common themes in fiction, so I could see them actually seeing it as a problem as opposed to an abstract problem like no government papers (since these kids with one obvious exception don't do taxes.) But it would make for a great way to explore the prefect having a crisis just as you say, in a way it's the perfect example for every problem they might have with being in Twisted Wonderland.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst yuu #i think azul jamil and ruggie? would probably be the most accepting of yuu in this situation #jamil understands wanting to start a new life but wanting it done on his terms #ruggie understands poverty and not trusting the government #and azul #well he does try to collect secrets on people #it's how he tries to make friends #but he's also clearly “sympathetic” to those he perceives to be living lies #in a way it could be a mirror to how yuu sees him at the end of book 3 #“hard work is harder to master than magic seriously your amazing you don't need to steal from people”#vs #“i too value hard work and incremental progress”#“you don't need to lie about who you are to be worthy of respect and admiration”#and let's not talk about cay cay #because i sort of might have spoiled his 800 followers entry if i squint at something i wrote up there

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from-memphis-with-love · 5 days ago

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Songbird - Chapter 11 - Blue Christmas

Summary: It's a Christmas miracle.

Word count: ~4,800

If you like, you can also read here at A03.

Graceland in December was a sight that stopped traffic. Literally. Cars lined up just to see the lights - thousands of blue bulbs transforming the mansion into something from a fairy tale. Even the famous gates sparkled, wreaths bigger than truck tires hanging from each side.

But inside, the magic felt hollow.

The garland felt heavy in my hands as I wound it around the banister, scratchy against my skin like all the questions I wasn't asking. Through the ceiling, I could hear him pacing. He'd been at it for hours, wearing a path in the carpet upstairs like he was trying to escape something. Or maybe someone. These days, it was getting harder to tell the difference.

"He won't come down," Vernon told me quietly as I helped him sort through boxes of ornaments. Elvis's mother's favorites were wrapped in tissue paper, delicate glass bells and angels she'd collected over the years. They felt fragile in my hands, like all the promises that had started to wear thin. "Been up there since yesterday. Won't eat. Won't talk to nobody."

Great. One of those moods. The kind that usually ended with broken furniture and the Memphis Mafia scrambling to replace whatever Elvis had decided needed redecorating via karate chop.

The Christmas special he was meant to record next week hung over everything like a storm cloud. I tried not to think about how many times we'd been here before, how many promises had faded into Memphis air. Six months in this town, and what did I have to show for it? A man who wouldn't file his divorce papers and a growing suspicion that I was the biggest fool this side of the Mississippi.

The kitchen sounded like a henhouse with stage fright - all clucking tongues and whispered judgments barely disguised as holiday cheer. Patsy Lacker was at the counter rolling out sugar cookie dough like she had a personal vendetta against flour, while Joan Esposito perched on a stool nearby, watching everything with those sharp little eyes that never missed a chance to draw blood.

It was funny, really, how differently the men and women of Elvis's world treated me. The Memphis Mafia had adopted me like a kid sister - teaching me their secret handshakes, including me in their pranks, making sure I always had someone watching my back. But their wives? That was another story entirely. They lived in a careful hierarchy, like church pews arranged by seniority, and my presence had disrupted their whole order. After all, being Elvis's girl put you right at the top, whether you wanted it or not. Only Patsy seemed immune to the politics of it all. The others maintained a careful distance, their loyalty to Priscilla like a wall I couldn't scale. Joan was the worst - her devotion to "poor Cilla" practically a religion. Even Pat West, Red's wife, kept things cordially arctic, like we were diplomats from opposing countries forced to share the same embassy.

"The decorations look lovely," Joan said, her voice dripping sweet as artificial honey. "Almost like a real family Christmas."

And there it was. The knife, sliding in smooth between my ribs. Because that's what I wasn't, wasn't it? Real family. I was just the Chicago girl who'd wandered into Elvis Presley's orbit and forgotten how gravity worked.

"Thanks," I managed, focusing on hanging a silver bell that probably cost more than my first car. "Vernon picked out most of it."

"Oh, I'm sure he did." Joan's smile could have curdled milk. "Though I hear we'll have help with the rest of the decorating soon enough."

I turned, something cold settling in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?" Her eyes went wide with practiced innocence. "Oh dear, I thought surely someone would have told you. Priscilla's flying in for Christmas. She called this morning to discuss the arrangements."

The bell slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a sound like breaking promises. I watched it roll under the cabinet, unable to move, unable to breathe. The room tilted sideways, gravity doing funny things again. Around me, the kitchen seemed to shrink, the air going thick as molasses. Even Patsy's steady rolling pin fell silent.

"Joan." Patsy's voice cut through the fog, sharp as a slap. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

But I was already moving, my feet carrying me away from Joan's satisfied smirk, away from Patsy's concerned eyes, away from the truth I should have seen coming. The storeroom door closed behind me with a soft click, and then I was sliding down the wall, my knees finally giving up the fight with reality.

You ever have one of those moments when your whole world rearranges itself, like someone just flipped the record over and now everything's playing backward? That's what this felt like. All those nights Elvis had spent talking about 'someday' and 'soon' and 'when things settle down' - they crumbled like winter frost in the Tennessee sun.

The first sob caught me by surprise, tearing out of my throat like it had been waiting there all along. The second brought friends. By the third, I was full-on ugly crying, the kind that would have my mascara looking like it had tried to escape down my face.

"Oh, honey." The voice belonged to Sophie, though I hadn't heard her come in. She knelt beside me, not touching, just being there. Sometimes that's all you need - someone to witness your world falling apart.

"I'm such an idiot," I managed between hiccups. "All those promises, and I actually believed..."

"You're not an idiot," Sophie said firmly. "Men got a way of making you believe in fairy tales. Trust me, we've all been there."

"Not like this." I wiped my eyes, probably making the mascara situation worse. "I actually thought... God, I don't even know what I thought. That he'd leave her? File for divorce? Pick me?"

Sophie didn't answer right away. Above us, Elvis' footsteps continued their restless dance, like he was trying to walk away from something he couldn't escape. I knew the feeling.

"You wanna know the truth?" Sophie's voice was gentle but firm. "He probably loves you. Lord knows I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. But Mr. Elvis... he's like one of those fancy antique music boxes. Beautiful to look at, makes the prettiest sounds, but something inside is broken. Has been for a long time."

I laughed, but it came out more like a sob. "Great. So I'm in love with a broken music box who's about to play happy family with his wife for Christmas. Think Woolworth's sells cards for that?"

Sophie helped me fix my face before heading back out - a lost cause if there ever was one, but at least now I looked less like a raccoon that had lost a fistfight with its mascara. The kitchen had cleared out, thank God and all His angels. Even Joan had found somewhere else to spread her particular brand of Christmas cheer.

But the calm didn't last long. Around six, the storm hit wearing Chanel No. 5 and a fur coat that probably cost more than my yearly salary back in Chicago.

"Oh!" Ann Beaulieu's voice carried from the foyer like a perfectly pitched arrow. "Vernon, the decorations are simply lovely. Almost like old times."

Almost like old times. There was that word again - almost. Story of my life lately. Almost good enough, almost family, almost the one he'd choose.

I tried to make myself scarce, I really did. But at Graceland, there's no such thing as invisible. Not when you're the other woman. Not when every step you take echoes with whispers about whose bed you warm at night. Not when Elvis Presley's mother-in-law can smell her daughter's side of the bed on your skin.

Ann's smile could have frozen hell over. "How... enterprising of you to help with the decorations." Her eyes swept over me like she was calculating exactly how many Hail Marys it would take to cleanse the house of my presence. "Though I'm sure my Cilla will want to make some changes when she arrives. She never did like so much tinsel."

The thing about being hit by a truck is that at least it's quick. This? This was like death by a thousand perfectly manicured paper cuts.

"Mrs. Beaulieu." I managed what I hoped passed for a smile. "I was just finishing up."

"Oh, don't leave on my account." Her voice dripped false sweetness. "It’s nice having… everyone here.”

Above us, the pacing stopped. In the sudden silence, you could almost hear the sound of my heart cracking. Or maybe that was just another Christmas ornament hitting the floor - I'd lost count of how many I'd dropped since Joan's little bombshell.

That's when Red appeared, looking like he'd rather face down an angry mob than be stuck in this particular moment. "Boss wants to see you," he told me quietly. "Says it's important."

Ann's stare burned into my back as I headed for the stairs, each step feeling like a walk of shame. The word "whore" might as well have been painted on my forehead in neon. These were the stairs I climbed every night to his bed - our secret mapped out in carpet fibers and creaking wood. Now, with Ann's eyes following my ascent, I could barely keep my lunch down. The taste of bile mixed with the lingering sweetness of the candy cane I'd been nervously sucking on earlier, making my stomach roll.

My hands trembled as I reached his door. When I wasn't around the wives, when it was just Elvis and me, everything felt right. Natural. Like breathing. But under Ann's gaze, every step felt dirty. Every touch we'd shared seemed tainted. And still, God help me, I wanted him. Even now, even with shame burning my cheeks and judgment following my footsteps, my body hummed with anticipation of seeing him.

"Get in here," he said when I knocked, his voice rough around the edges. Whatever he took was wearing off, then. Perfect timing, as always.

Elvis stood by the window, still wearing yesterday's clothes, tension rolling off him in waves. The room smelled like cologne and something sharper - whatever Dr. Nick had last prescribed to keep the demons at bay. Even disheveled, even strung out, he was beautiful enough to stop my heart. That was the real curse of loving Elvis Presley - he could look like heaven while leading you straight to hell.

"Your mother-in-law's here," I said, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Really spreading holiday cheer, that one."

He didn't laugh. Didn't even turn around. Just kept staring out at all those blue lights like they held answers to questions he wasn't ready to ask.

"When were you gonna tell me?" The words came out steadier than I felt. "About her coming home for Christmas. Or was I supposed to find out from Joan's helpful little announcement in front of God and everybody?"

His shoulders tensed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "It ain't what you think."

"No?" I laughed, but it came out all wrong. "Then please, Elvis, tell me what it is. Because from where I'm standing, it looks an awful lot like you're playing both sides of the record."

"The Colonel thinks–"

"Oh, the Colonel thinks?" Now the laugh was real, but it had edges sharp enough to cut. "Well, that makes everything better. Tell me, does the Colonel think about how it feels to help decorate a Christmas tree for another woman's homecoming? Does he think about how it feels to be the fool who believed all those pretty lies about 'soon' and 'just a little longer'?"

He turned then, those blue eyes darker than usual. Even angry - especially angry - he was devastating. His silk shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing that triangle of chest hair that never failed to make my mouth go dry. Six months, and still the sight of him could knock the air from my lungs.

"They weren't lies," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous register that always made heat pool low in my belly.

"Really? Because those divorce papers are still sitting in your drawer, gathering dust like all your other broken promises."

Something flickered across his face - guilt maybe, or just annoyance at being called out. He moved closer, and Lord help me, my body responded like it always did. That's the thing about desire - it doesn't care about broken hearts or wounded pride. It just wants what it wants.

"C'mere," he said, his voice pure velvet now. When I didn't move, he reached for my arm. "Valley, baby, let me explain–"

I jerked away. "Don't 'Valley baby' me. Not now. Not when your wife is flying in to act like I'm not even here while I've been doing everything around here, thinking–"

His hands caught me then, spinning me toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind us, and suddenly we were face to face in front of that damned mirror - the one that had witnessed too many of his mood swings, too many of Dr. Nick's "solutions," too many moments when Elvis Presley tried to recognize himself behind his own eyes.

"Look," he growled, his hands gripping my shoulders. His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm, and I could feel his heart hammering through both our clothes. "Look at us."

I did. God help me, I did. He loomed over me like some beautiful avenging angel, all wild eyes and barely contained energy. His height made me feel small, delicate - exactly the kind of woman I'd never wanted to be. But my body had other ideas. Every point of contact between us felt electric. His hands on my shoulders. His breath on my neck. The solid weight of him pressed against me, making promises I knew he wouldn't keep.

"You see that?" His voice was rough, desperate. One hand slid down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "You see how right this is? How right we are?"

My own reflection looked like a stranger - cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, lipstick smeared from where I'd been biting my lip. My chest rose and fell too quickly, betraying how much I wanted this, wanted him, even now. We looked like what we were: a disaster waiting to happen. A tragedy dressed up in silk and perfume.

"All I see," I said, my voice shaking, "is a man who won't choose. Who keeps one foot in the past while promising me a future that'll never happen."

His hands tightened on my shoulders. "You don't understand–"

"Then make me understand!" I tried to turn but he held me firm, keeping me facing our reflection. "Make me understand why you signed those papers but won't file them. Why you tell me you love me but won't let her go. Why you're letting your wife come home for Christmas while I skulk around like a–like some common whore!"

"God damn it, woman," he growled, his lips brushing my ear. His chest hair tickled my neck where my sweater had slipped, and I couldn't help the small sound that escaped me. One of his hands slid lower, spanning my waist, pulling me tighter against him. "Tell me this isn't worth fighting for."

We did look right together, that was the hell of it. His dark beauty a perfect contrast to my softer features. Even our clothes seemed to complement each other - his green silk shirt against my red sweater, like some Christmas card from hell. But it was more than that. It was the way we fit, like two pieces of a puzzle nobody else could solve. His height made me feel delicate without making me feel weak. My curves softened his sharp edges. Even our breathing had synchronized, like our bodies knew something our hearts were too scared to admit.

"Stop it," I whispered, but my resolve was crumbling like sugar in rain. His hands were everywhere now, possessive, demanding, making promises his heart never seemed to keep. One slipped beneath my sweater, his rings cold against my overheated skin, and I arched into his touch despite myself.

The kiss, when it came, was violent. All teeth and tongues and months of complications. I bit his lip hard enough to hurt, tasting copper, and he growled - actually growled - spinning me around to press me against the sink. His hips pinned me in place, and Lord help me, I could feel exactly what I did to him. What he did to me.

His hands tangled in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough as gravel. "Fighting this like you don't want it just as bad as I do."

For one heated moment, I let myself forget everything. Joan's smirk, Ann's contempt, the pile of unsigned divorce papers that represented every broken promise between us. I let myself get lost in the feeling of his mouth on my neck, his hands possessive on my hips, the solid weight of him pressing me into the counter. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, needing to touch, to claim, to prove something I couldn't quite name.

But then I caught our reflection again - me, disheveled and wanting, him, beautiful and impossibly distant even in this intimate moment. Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water.

"No." This time when I pushed him away, I meant it. "I’m not gonna be your dirty secret anymore."

I fled the bathroom on shaking legs, my lipstick smeared across my mouth like evidence of a crime. In the bedroom, I grabbed my purse, needing to be anywhere but here. My skin still tingled where he'd touched me, and I hated myself for wanting more. For always wanting more.

"Valerie, wait–"

"For what?" I whirled to face him. The sight of him nearly undid my resolve - shirt half-unbuttoned, hair mussed from my hands, that look in his eyes that always made me weak. "For her to come home? For you to finally make up your mind? For hell to freeze over?"

His face twisted with something that might have been pain, but I was done trying to read the emotions behind those beautiful eyes. Done trying to decode every expression, every gesture, every cotton candy promise.

"I'm going home," I said, my voice steady despite everything. "To Chicago. Where I belong."

My hands shook as I threw clothes into my suitcase, not caring what got wrinkled or crushed. A pair of boots tumbled from the top shelf of the closet - the ones Elvis had bought me last month, soft brown leather that probably cost more than three months' rent back home. They landed at my feet like an accusation, and the memory hit me like a physical blow: his face lighting up as I tried them on, the way he'd knelt to help me with the buckles, how he'd kissed his way up my leg afterward until I forgot about everything but him.

I kicked them aside, ignoring the sting of tears.

"Going somewhere?"

I spun around to find Jerry in the doorway, his face a mask of carefully controlled concern. Asking me that question would get him in trouble with the boss, I knew, but Jerry always did have a soft spot for me. Behind him, I could hear the sounds of Graceland settling into evening - distant Christmas carols, the clatter of dishes, Ann Beaulieu's voice carrying up from below like smoke.

"Chicago," I said, shoving another sweater into the already overstuffed bag. "Before I completely lose what's left of my dignity."

"Val..." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes took in my smeared makeup, my trembling hands, the chaos I was making of my packing. "At least wait until morning. Weather's turning bad, and–"

"If I stay until morning, I'll never leave." I yanked the zipper closed with enough force to break it. "And we both know I gotta leave."

Jerry was quiet for a moment, watching me try to lift the suitcase with shaking hands. Finally, he sighed. "Let me drive you to the airport."

"I can manage."

"Wasn't asking." He took the suitcase from me with gentle firmness. "Plus, someone's gotta make sure you don't turn that Mustang into a Christmas wreck. You're shaking worse than Elvis after three cups of coffee."

He really was risking his hide. I had to let him.

The drive to the airport was silent except for the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers battling the freezing rain. Memphis looked different somehow - all those gaudy Christmas lights blurred by weather and tears I refused to let fall. Each mile put more distance between me and Graceland, but I could still feel Elvis's hands on my skin, still taste him on my lips. Still see his reflection behind mine in that damned mirror.

"He's gonna come after you, you know," Jerry said finally, as we pulled up to the departure terminal.

"No," I said, staring at the airport's glowing signs through the rain-streaked windshield. "He won't. He's got what he really wants coming home for Christmas."

Jerry helped me with my bags, then surprised me by pulling me into a bear hug. "You're good people, Val. Don't let this place make you forget that."

Two hours later, I was on a plane bound for Chicago, watching Memphis disappear beneath the clouds. Somewhere down there, in a mansion wrapped in blue lights, Elvis Presley was probably still staring out his window, waiting for his wife to come home.

Deena's Christmas party was in full swing by the time I arrived, her little apartment strung with multicolored lights that made it look like a carnival had thrown up all over her living room. Back home less than six hours, and already Memphis felt like some fever dream I'd finally woken up from. Like maybe I'd imagined it all - the mansion, the music, the way Elvis had looked at me in that bathroom mirror just hours ago.

"Val!" She squealed, pulling me into a hug that smelled like sugar cookies and cheap wine. "You made it! Though you look like hell warmed over."

"Thanks." I managed a weak smile. "Just what every girl wants to hear."

"Oh honey." She steered me toward the kitchen, where a punch bowl full of something violently red held court. "Here. This'll help. It's mostly rum, which seems like what you need right now."

The party spun around me in a blur of familiar faces and questions I wasn't ready to answer. Our old crowd from the jazz clubs, college friends, some neighbors, a few of Deena's cousins - all of them trying very hard not to stare at the woman who'd run away with Elvis Presley and lived to tell.

"So..." Deena's cousin Marie sidled up, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is it true? About you and... you know..."

"Marie!" Deena shot her a warning look, but the damage was done. The floodgates opened.

"What's he really like?"

"Is Graceland really as big as they say?"

"Does he actually eat those peanut butter and banana sandwiches?"

"Is his hair really that black?"

"How many Cadillacs are there really?"

"Did you meet Priscilla?"

That last one, from someone in the back, hit like a slap. The room got quiet fast, everyone suddenly very interested in their drinks.

"He's nice," I said finally, the words tasting like ash. "And he's just a man. Just a man who..." I couldn't finish. Couldn't find the words to explain how someone could be both everything you ever wanted and everything that could destroy you.

The party lurched on like a record with a skip in it - moments of almost-normal interrupted by sudden, jarring reminders. Every time someone mentioned Vegas or Memphis or music, the room would get quiet, everyone stealing glances my way like I might shatter.

"But what about–" Marie started again, but Tommy from the jazz circuit cut her off.

"Remember that time at the Blue Note?" Deena jumped in, grateful for the change of subject. She looked ot be about three glasses of punch in and determined to drag me out of my funk. "When that guy kept hitting on you and you told him you only dated men who could sing better than you?"

"And then he tried to sing 'My Way' and sounded like a cat in a blender," Tommy added, grinning.

Despite myself, I laughed. The punch was starting to help, or maybe it was just being home, surrounded by people who knew me before I became 'Elvis's girl.' People who remembered when I was just Val from the jazz clubs. Val the weekend music teacher to underprivileged kids.

Tommy had brought his guitar, and somehow we'd ended up having an impromptu sing-along. Christmas songs morphed into old standards, and for a while, I could almost pretend the last six months had been some elaborate dream. My voice felt rusty but real - no Vegas glitter required.

"Do 'Blue Christmas!" someone called out.

"No Elvis songs!" Deena shouted back, but I was already shaking my head.

"It's fine." I took another swig of punch. "I can handle a little Christmas music without falling apart."

"Atta girl," Tommy said, starting the opening chords.

It felt good, singing without all that weight. No Colonel watching from the wings, no pressure to be perfect, no eyes following my every move. Just friends and music and enough rum to make the edges soft. I was hamming it up, perching on Tommy's knee while he played, making everyone laugh with my exaggerated wiggle.

"See?" Deena nudged me after we finished. "You still got it. Chicago's been missing you something fierce. Those Memphis folks can sit on it and rotate…”

"Speaking of Memphis," Marie started, but this time it was my turn to cut her off.

"Yes, his hair really is that nice. Yes, he has more cars than God. Yes, the peanut butter and banana sandwiches are real. Yes, I’ve met Priscilla.” I winced at that one. “And yes–" I took another drink, feeling reckless, "he's exactly as pretty as everyone says he is. Probably prettier."

The room erupted in laughter and whistles. Someone called out, "Details! We need details!"

"Oh no," Deena waggled her finger. "No kiss and tell in my house. Besides--"

"Shhh!" Marie suddenly shouted from the couch. "Everyone shut up! Look who's on TV!"

The room went quiet as death. There he was - my Elvis, standing in front of Graceland's gates. He looked tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that even TV makeup couldn't hide. Behind him, those damn Christmas lights made everything look underwater.

"Turn it up!" someone called.

The music cut out, replaced by a breaking news bulletin. The room went quiet as the announcer's voice filled the space:

"In entertainment news tonight, sources confirm that Elvis Presley has officially filed for divorce from wife Priscilla. The papers, filed earlier this week in Memphis, cite irreconcilable differences. This comes as a surprise to many, especially given reports that Mrs. Presley was expected to return to Graceland for the holidays..."

The punch cup slipped from my numb fingers, shattering on Deena's linoleum floor in a splash of red that looked like blood. Someone gasped. Someone else whispered "Holy shit."

"Val?" Deena's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Honey, you okay?"

But I couldn't answer. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. On the TV screen, photos of Elvis and Priscilla flashed by - their wedding, public appearances, that last photo from Vegas. And there, in the corner, a smaller headline scrolling: "Sources suggest new relationship with Chicago singer may have precipitated split."

"Oh my God," Marie whispered. "Val, did you know?"

No. No, I hadn't known. I'd run away thinking... but he'd already... and Priscilla was coming home to...

"I need some air," I managed, pushing through the crowd of stunned faces. Behind me, I could hear Deena trying to maintain order, but the room had erupted into chaos.

"Give her space!" "Did you see his face when-" "The papers said earlier this week-" "That's why he let her go today-"

On her tiny balcony, the Chicago winter bit at my face, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was Elvis, alone in that blood-warm Memphis night, watching me drive away. All I could hear was his voice: "You don't understand-"

And I hadn't understood. Not at all.

The worst part? He'd finally done the right thing, and I hadn't trusted him enough to wait and see. I'd run away just when he was finally ready to choose me.

Inside, I could hear the TV still going, dissecting the biggest entertainment story of the year. But all I could think about was a Christmas tree in Graceland, wrapped in blue lights that probably looked a lot like tears right about now.

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#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #songbird 1969

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whorediaries-09 · 9 months ago

Text

now i'm your daisy;

pairing- priest!remus lupin x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, dark themes. (let me know i should add more) [this is a dark fic. your media consumption is your choice and i'm not responsible for it. please do not continue under cut if you're uncomfortable.] a/n- here ya go honey @fictional-magic. i won't gatekeep ✍️.

ps- not using my regular taglist since this is a topic many people can be uncomfortable with.

little train

don't blame me (part one aka context)

' something happened for the first time, in the darkest little paradise shakin, pacin', i just need you. '

in the sweet innocence of the gentle sin, he worships you like a deity. like fresh poison, he consumes you, his lips travelling to every part of your body. he tells you his sins when he slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. he feels like a dog at the shrine of your light.

'you taste so delicious,' he whispers, as you nod. his hand unzips your dress, taking off the white fabric from your body. the cold air greets you, hardening your nipples into little nubs. he circles his fingers around him, his lips now on your neck.

'i've never had sex in a church before,' he says, sinking his canine into your neck. he sucks on the slightly sore spot and your hand travels into his locks.

'there's a...first time for everything i suppose,' you tease, arching your back. he laughs,

'i'm sure he won't mind. here let me help you with that,' you shimmy out of your cotton underwear.

'you'll have to say more than just your the rosary,' you say as he falls on his knees, his fingers sliding along the folds of your cunt. you arch your hips onto his fingers, the cruel hot madness of lust and greed ruining the plethora of your innocence. he slides his tongue between thighs, and you shake, your fingernails gripping onto his shoulder.

'yes, i'll have to say more than just the rosary. you're very funny,' he laughs, his tongue lapping onto your clit. you shake, and he catches you by your leg. he puts his thigh on your shoulder, his mouth still sucking on your sweet bundle of nerves. you arch your back, and he cranes his neck to see you ruining apart by his constant flicking and teasing.

'god forgive me,' you say, as he inserts two of his fingers into you. your fingers catch onto his hair, and you push him deeper between your legs. he licks up on your cunt, ravaging you like a starved man.

'we-shouldn't be doing this, but i want you so bad,' you scream, your voice echoing through the walls of the church. he pumps into you faster, finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long fingers.

'please, mr. lupin, right there-' you push his head deeper, as deep as you can, his stubble rubbing against the skin, wounding you with the mark of your sins. it breaks you apart into the havoc, when you feel your orgasm snap out of your body, your release pouring out of your body, coating his tongue.

he stands on his feet, his arm circling around your waist as he kisses you again, his mouth brandishing into yours. he lets the taste of you and his saliva down your throat and taste buds. it makes you shiver.

'i don't want to fuck you on the pier, it's not very comfy,' he says. his eyes wander about, and he continues, 'up on the altar,' your eyes widen.

'what? are you serious?' he nods,

'yes i'm serious, now up the altar,'

you walk towards the altar, your legs still shaky with the blissful euphoria. his hands grab you by your hips and he helps you up on it.

'perfect height,' he breathes, spreading your slick legs, 'lie back, sweetheart,' his eyes wander about your figure, legs wide apart, flushed cheeks, tears and mascara rolling down your face, and messy hair.

'just a like fucking angel,' he says, 'lay down for me sweetheart,' the stature of jesus hangs above you, the remnant of the sunshine filtering through the windows. as he slides down his shaft within your folds, teasing your slit with the tip of his cock his eyes wander over to the crucified jesus on the cross,

'perhaps, you'll forgive me,' he says. then he lowers down his eyes to your form, spread down beneath him. his hand wanders to your waist. 'perhaps, he's a bit jealous too,' he smiles. he digs his fingernails deep into your waist, pulling you closer and the other teases your entrance slowly with the tip of his cock.

'i'm gonna slide right in there okay? just tell me if you're uncomfortable,' he gasps, pushing himself inside of you. you arch your back, sinful moans leaving your mouth, his shaft filling you up to the brink. he braces himself by holding onto the edge of the altar, his knuckles turning white with the pressure.

'god, you're so wet f'me,' he praises, his finger now tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

'jus' for you mr. lupin,' you mumble, quietly gasping as he pulls himself out just to push himself back into you again. his finger circles on your stimulated clit and breathes,

'sweetheart, the sounds you make. someone could hear them and walk right in, but don't you fucking stop.' he chuckles darkly, 'i want them to walk in, let the fucking world know how good you feel,'

'please,' you whimper, motioning him to continue. he nods, catching you by your hips and slowly rutting into you, pining you to the cold wood of the altar.

'god, why haven't we done this before? i have wanted to, believe me so many times,'

'me too, mr. lupin.' the pressure of his hands increase on your waist as he pulls you closer, pushing himself deeper, so deep you feel him in your cervix,

'really? i'm glad to know the feeling is mutual,' he bends down, his teeth nibbling and mouth sucking on the bites he leaves behind,

'that sunday you sat with me for hours discussing the gospels, i wanted to fuck you so bad, take you on the floor, marking you as mine. i wanted to push your head down on my cock the whole time i watched your mouth move,' he says, chuckling darkly as you clench around his cock. his finger linger on your lips, 'those lips, warm, welcoming and glistening with your spit,'

'you like the sound of that? i feel you clenching around my cock,' you nod, and he smiles, his tongue swiping for his lower lip.

'such a perfect warm and wet cunt,' he praises, 'i so quick witted, always has something to say.' he rubs your clit, and your walls convulse around him. your chest heaves as the hotness fills you up. you flutter your eyelashes as you feel his thrusts grow sloppy. wrapping your hands around his neck, you pull him closer, ravaging your mouth on his.

'fuck, fuck, i'm going to cum,' he says. he presses his hand down on your hip, 'please tell me i can cum inside you, fill you up,' you nod, your head in the euphoria of the shrine of your sins, as your cunt convulses around him and you release your orgasm around him for the second time that evening.

'please cum inside me, remus,' when you speak his name, his control topples over the edge of his insanity and he releases himself you, chanting your name. his cum drips out your abused hole when he pulls out his softened cock, painting your thighs and falling on the altar he fucked you over. your chest heaves with satisfactory exhaustion.

his eyes burn through you, and the lores of lust break down. he realizes he should've worshipped you sooner. he should've been your daisy sooner. you were his darkest little paradise, and he wanted nothing more than you. he'd fall from grace, to be succumbed by the madness of your serene lust. the only heaven he could be send to was when he alone with you, even when you offered him a deathless death.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x you #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #kinkotober #remus lupin fanart #werewolf

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missoneminute · 22 days ago

Note

you may have spoken about this before but is there anything that surprised you about p+c when you met them for the first time? :)

Hello! Yes! For sure. I’ve said before but I’m happy to say it all again any time.

The main thing is that Peter is TALL. You know he’s tall but you’re never prepared for how tall. Whatever you imagine - he’s bigger. He’s a giant. His hands are like soft bear paws, his head is a planet, his huge, beautiful eyes should be on a large deer. He’s just absolutely towering in every way. Which is always surprising somehow because he has such a soft aura. He’s very softly spoken, very gentle, so there’s a certain disconnect. He’s also very much on his own planet. I’ve met him both at some of the darker points of his addiction and well into recovery, and it’s safe to say he’s just a space cadet by nature. You never know if what you said went in or not - if it did, he will suddenly snap to attention like he’s come hurtling back to earth and engage you with a really childlike sense of wonder. If it did not, he will stare at you blankly and just… wander off. I’ve twice had him do things like just say “well bye!” And wander off after a long, awkward pause haha. Which I’m fine with - I love that he’s a law unto himself, and it makes the times you connect with him all the more special. He also has no filter. If you give him a gift he doesn’t love, he will fucking tell you about it lol. But same goes that when he loves it, he’s so sweet and complimentary. I’ve been giving him antique silk cigarette cards - which he collects - for six years now and he really loves them. For instance last time in Manchester he told me they’re “better than heroin”. Like. He will just… say things haha. There’s also no middle ground - he will either give you the sweetest hug where he collects you and squeezes you or he will give you a side hug like you’re infectious. It’s literally utterly dependent on his mood haha. But ya know he’s his own country, you can’t take anything he does personally because Peter will do whatever Peter does and the world outside him has little impact on that. He’s very charming and charismatic of course, very funny too, and just so naturally eccentric. He has that vibe, you know… that vibe people have who are just blessed by something bigger, something fated. Now Carl… the thing that surprised me about Carl is that he’s so WARM. Like he may be the warmest person I’ve ever met. He’s so, so attentive, so so kind, so utterly sweet and just so deeply affectionate. He’s like that every time and with everyone. He hugs like no one else on earth. When that man embraces you it’s so fucking real. Like I don’t want to sound ridiculous but he just hugs people with such immense love. He HOLDS you man. It’s crazy how he never turns that off and how he can be that way so constantly. He always knows what to say, he fills every weird silence, and he works very hard to make people comfortable. I’ve never met anyone who radiates so much pure and endless warmth. It’s truly so beautiful and while I think a lot of fans know he’s like that now, I feel like because of all the dark stuff that went on back in the day some people saw him as aloof and unkind and nothing could be further from the truth. I get why people get obsessed with him, I really do. He radiates such gorgeous energy that you want to be around it and you want those magical hugs. Plus he’s an incredible conversationalist - so fast, so funny, so witty and so full of random ridiculous facts. Eccentric too of course. Like I get it Peter, I get it Carl girls. He’s extremely charming and charismatic, much more in person than he comes across on screen. He has a special energy too, something mesmerising. And yeah being real he’s one of the best looking people I’ve seen in person. He’s shiny. Very shiny - beautiful hair, flawless skin, put together so well, and he has that way of moving that beautiful people always do where they sort of just… leave a glittery trail. One thing I haven’t gotten to see is the two of them interacting much - I’ve seen them in the same space chatting to fans and calling across to each other here and there but never full pelt. I think my entire mind would melt. X

#asks

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fartasticdurge · 7 days ago

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A Bone to Pick

Bellara's at it again, with a new serial to tickle your funny bone. But you don't have to believe me, listen to what other fans of the serials have said so far: "Bones, Groans, and Puns Galore!" "Bone-Tickling Humor and Pun-Filled Lore!" "Bone Dry Humor, Pun Wet Wit!"

Watch Rook struggle to navigate her relationship with Emmrich and get romantic advice from the other men in her life.

You can find the rest of her serials here.

Rook was walking towards the kitchen of the Lighthouse, wondering if she could get Lucanis to finally make some desert like he’d promised. Rook hoped she would hang out with Spite while Lucanis whipped something delicious for them and hopefully enough time would have passed to make it socially acceptable to get in the same room with Emmrich. If he wasn’t avoiding her again.

Emmrich had gone to discuss whatever book they were talking about in their stupid book club, so Rook was left to entertain herself for a couple of hours. She wasn’t even sure why he would go in the first place as he would come back talking her ear off about magical and anatomical inaccuracies and how some of the members would react to his suggestions. When he would talk to her, lately, it seemed like he would rather do anything else.

Granted, knowing Emmrich meant that he would likely go into a long description of what the right version would be, and likely everyone wouldn’t even care about the right, to begin with.

Harding almost made Davrin join, given some of the titles they talked about in their silly little meetings, heroic adventurers with gruesome fights and steamy nights. Rook thought it was hilarious how neither of them seemed to notice how they craved stories about people doing what they did. Granted, some of Rook’s companions didn’t have the steamy nights to keep them company, so she supposed, in a way, she could understand where they were coming from.

Rook, however, did have the steamy nights. Well, she used to. Emmrich was busy with many things, and lately, it seemed like he was constantly trying to become busier. Everyone needed some random rune, spell or corpse whispering and if she were honest, it started to bother her how little attention she was getting, but she could hardly get him alone to broach the topic.

More often than not, Rook would walk into his chamber after a long day of killing Antaam and Venatori and whatnot, hoping to let off some steam, only to find anyone from Neve to Lucanis, to Davrin and even Taash ask all sorts of questions about all his fields of expertise.

Rook groaned at the memory of Emmrich practically running off to his book club just moments ago as she reached the doors of the kitchen, finding Davrin and Lucanis laughing with an open bottle on the table. That, at least, was bound to be interesting, considering how awful things stood between them for the past few days.

“No, no. I had to kill a man once who did magic on nugs.” Lucanis said as he leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms. “A hundred little pigs with hands came after me. All together in one big, writing ball. Have you ever tried to stab a ball of angry nugs? That was a bad job.”

“I’ve got a better one.” Davrin said as he leaned forward in his chair. “You know what the Wandering Hills are named for?” He asked without waiting for a reply. “it’s a monster. Big heap of red tentacles that crawls around, devouring everything in it’s path.”

If nothing else, it was nice to see Davrin and Lucanis sitting together, their laughter echoing softly as they swapped stories so engrossed that they didn’t even notice Rook enter the room.

“The damned thing was a hillside. Size of a village. You try fighting a hill with a sword some time.”

“How did you kill it?” Bewildered, Lucanis asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a tremor of uncertainty in his tone.

“Lamp oil. Everything stank of burned tentacles for miles, after.”

“If the two of you were going to open a bottle, you might have told me, first.” Rook teased, her laughter echoing through the room, making her presence known.

“It’s not a good bottle.” Davrin spoke, the firelight catching his slightly unfocused eyes, revealing his inebriation, a wide, goofy grin stretched across his flushed cheeks.

“Might have to pick up a supply. I have a feeling we’ll need it.” Lucanis said as he looked at her. His cheeks were suspiciously flushed as well, but he was nowhere near as drunk as Davrin. Then she remembered Spite. Of course, he wouldn’t let loose like that.

“What about you, Rook? What’s the worst job you ever been on?” Lucanis inquired.

A few missions from her days with the Shadow Dragons sprang to mind. And then to a few others before she joined them, though she didn’t particularly like to think about those. The most recent memory, however, brought a bittersweet smile to her face, prompting her to recount the tale of Varric, Harding, and Neve’s first encounter with Solas, a story filled with unexpected twists.

A hush fell over the room as Davrin, emboldened by the shared stories, finally seemed to find the courage to ask, his voice a low murmur. “So what’s up with you and Emmrich?”

From the second she sat down, Rook could practically hear the questions brewing in the room, a symphony of curious voices just waiting to erupt. She would usually handle them better than Emmrich seemed to be, particularly around the age difference.

“What do you want to know?” The ruby liquid swirled in her glass as she asked, a daring glint in her eyes, challenging them to a daring exchange.

Davrin, startled by her candor, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow as he considered his next question. “Well… how come you’re not with Emmrich now, helping him with his bone magic?”

Rook shook her head, a chuckle escaping her lips, as Davrin’s relentless puns continued, each one more groan-inducing than the last.

“Yes, how come you’re here with us and not somewhere in his tower?” Lucanis asked.

“I’m not always in his tower.” Her cheeks flushed slightly as she mumbled a little sheepishly.

“Really?” Davrin asked. “We’ve hardly seen you in the kitchen for a glass since you two started boning.”

A wide, warm smile stretched across Lucanis’ face, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as a mischievous glint sparked within them. A wave of warm, hearty laughter washed over the room from him, dissipating the tension she’d sensed and replacing it with a comforting energy.

“So what should I do?” With a loud thud, Rook slammed her empty glass onto the table, a final, sharp sound that punctuated her question. The wine, a cheap, vinegary blend, was truly atrocious, but Rook was certainly feeling its effects by now — a dull headache and a loosening of her tongue.

“You should go and just tell him what’s up. Men love women who take initiative.” Davrin emphasized, his voice booming through the room, commanding attention. The sound of his words resonated on some level with Rook, like thunder in a silent sky, igniting a spark of inspiration, and it was better than anything she had tried so far, so she was inclined to heed his words.

“Rook, you’re the leader of this group. Just tell him what to do. I can make sure he fulfills his contract. Or he could become the contract. Up to you.” Lucanis added.

“Yeah, just tell him to dust off the old bone and wield it like you do your sword, warrior!”

By this point, Rook has had enough of their shenanigans and puns about her and Emmrich and decided to up the stakes with a challenge.

“Okay, how about we play a round of Diamondback? If I win, you promise to stop bothering Emmrich with those bone jokes,” Rook said, casting a glance at Davrin. “And whatever it was you said to him,” she added, turning her gaze towards Lucanis.

“I never said anything.” Lucanis replied. “Well, I never did. Spite did.”

“Deal.” Davrin said, his laughter echoing in the kitchen.

A heavy, wine-soaked haze hung in the air, the sharp tang of cheap alcohol mingling with the lingering cheesy scent of Lucanis’s Cacio e Pepe. Rook stared at her hand, the cards pinched between her fingers as if they were about to spring to life and bite, her mind a blur of time. A Black Queen smirked back at her, and the Gilded Serpent lay coiled beside it — promising misfortune rather than salvation. Lucanis leaned back in his chair, his lips twitching with a barely suppressed grin, his Silver Blade and Storm Knight spread neatly before him. But it was Davrin who sealed the match, his final card sliding onto the table with a soft, inevitable finality: the Diamondback itself — a flawless win, the game’s namesake gleaming from the worn card face.

Rook’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened, but there was no denying defeat. She almost forgot what she agreed to do, until she saw Davrin’s smile sharpening, dark eyes glittering as he leaned forward. “Well, well, Rook. A promise is a promise.” He tapped the edge of his winning card, voice silk and steel.

“You’re going to march in there and show Emmrich who’s the boss. And you have to tell him exactly what I told you to say. I’ll know if you won’t.”

Lucanis let out a low whistle, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Rook groaned, tossing her losing hand onto the table. “I swear, one day I’ll wipe that smug look off your face.”

But even as she scowled, there was a fire lingering in her—the kind that only Emmrich could put out, so the prospect wasn’t really unappealing. She just hoped she wouldn’t forget the words, as Davrin would most certainly ask Emmrich about it later.

Rook took in a deep breath and pushed open the door to Emmrich’s chamber, her footsteps a loud contrast to the darkness of the room. She couldn’t see anything, and even as she had her arms outstretched, she stumbled against something heavy, almost falling, her lack of balance not helping, and she cursed the blasted object.

“Son of a Fereldan bitch!”

She heard movement from up top and a familiar voice calling out to her from the darkness. “Rook? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would walk into your tower in the middle of the night?”

She heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase getting closer to her, and she took a deep breath, her mind already scrambling to remember the words exactly.

“There you are. I have a bone to pick with you, mister!”

She glared at Davrin when he told her to say that, his suggestion grating on her nerves, yet the moment the words left her lips, a wicked cackle erupted, surprising even herself. She was about to continue her speech, but as Emmrich ascended the last few steps of the grand staircase, his presence filled her vision, she forgot all the words. The familiar, musky scent of his cologne combined with the refreshing chill of the room’s air left her breathless, her mouth agape in silent shock.

The long, bone-white gown Emmrich wore, ruffled at the neck, swayed slightly as he moved, the candelabra in his hand throwing flickering shadows. The neatly pressed collar added a touch of elegance, and the vibrant green bow made him resemble a present, tempting yet unattainable to her touch, given how he avoided her as of late.

She didn’t realize she was walking towards him and bumped into the heavy object again—the mortuary table she realized, cold and smooth beneath his fingertips—its presence now clear in the light, the same table he used for his corpse whispering with the dead.

“Maker-forsaken piece of–”

“Rook, are you inherited?”

“No.” Rook said quickly, her hands clasped behind her back as she fought to stay upright, the dizzying swirl of the walls making her unsteady.

With a heavy sigh, Emmrich placed the candelabra on the mortuary table, the green magic swirling around his fingertips banished the darkness, revealing the harsh Fate light from the windows. She wondered, her breath catching, if the light played tricks on her eyes, or if she truly saw the magnificent, sculpted lines of his body beneath the thin nightgown, a longing to touch him burning within her.

“Rook!”

The sudden, piercing sound jolted her from her thoughts. Startled, she turned to see Manfred, his bony hands clapping together with a sharp, echoing noise. The tension in the air broke, filling the room with a sudden jolt that shattered the awkward silence and her wandering thoughts.

“Ah, Manfred!” Emmrich called out to him. “Kindly procure a selection of refreshments and convey them to Rook’s room, if you please.”

“Rook!” Manfred hissed in agreement.

Emmrich guided Rook outside of his room in silence, his fingers barely grazing the small of her back every once in a while, which ignited the fire within her for more of his touch. But it all seemed unimportant, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she did something to make Emmrich push her away. Her mind conjured images of potential situations where she might have offended him and she grimaced at the thought of her latest offence of showing up all demanding in his room when he was clearly sleeping.

“Are you angry with me?” A tiny, hesitant sound escaped Rook’s lips, barely audible as a question.

“I’m not.” Emmrich said, his voice tight and his face a mask of forced calm that didn’t quite mask the tension radiating from him as they entered her room.

“You are.”

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”

The words stung more than anything else he could have said. She would have preferred Emmrich’s explosive anger to this unsettling silence. In the vastness of her small room, she felt the magnitude of their disconnect. The walls seemed to expand, stretching to hold the weight of her emotions. Every corner echoed with the absence of his voice, leaving her feeling alone, mirroring the void in her heart.

Regardless, always the gentleman, he carefully helped her to the couch, the soft fabric yielding beneath her weight. Rook thought he might at least sit with her and talk, but as he turned to leave, she instinctively grabbed his cotton nightgown sleeve, the cool fabric a contrast to her own feverish skin.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Rook blurted the words before she could stop herself.

Emmrich’s eyes widened, a silent gasp passing through his parted lips before he pushed them close together, gathering his composure once more. “I have not.”

Rook chuckled at his expression, despite the gnawing pain in her chest. “You’re awful at lying.”

“I thought it best to give you some room.” Emmrich settled onto the edge of the couch, his words soft and measured.

“I don’t want any room.” Rook said as she drew closer to him. She stopped inches away, noticing his brow furrow and his arms pull into his lap–a subtle shift that spoke volumes. “But I guess you do.”

“Rook, I thought some time and space between us might give us both a chance to reflect on our relationship.”

“Ok? But why?”

His lips pressed together in a slight grimace, a frown etching itself onto his face as he searched for the right words; one hand absentmindedly went to his ear, tugging at it gently before falling back to his lap, the silence punctuated only by the faintest sounds of his inner turmoil. Rook imagined herself grabbing his hands, her own trembling slightly, and kissing him hard to silence the frantic thoughts that whirled in her mind, but even in her drunken state, she sensed he needed space, further amplifying her misery.

“I was hoping that some time apart might grant us the clear head to ascertain whether if this relationship is still a good idea.”

“You want to break up?” Rook asked as the pounding heartbeat grew loud in her ears, suddenly very aware of the dryness in her mouth.

“Isn’t that why you came to my room in the dead of night?”

“No, you fool. I wanted to bone you, not break up with you.”

“Rook!” Manfred startled them both, the sudden hiss of his voice cutting through the tension as he appeared with a tray laden with steaming teacups and glasses of water.

“Thank you, Manfred. That will be all.”

Despite Manfred leaving, they remained seated in silence. “What brought this on?” Rook asked.

“It’s been inferred that perhaps we are moving at a rapid pace. And I assumed your infatuation might die down with some space. Perhaps I might have misjudged your intentions.”

“Perhaps.”

“But then perhaps we should stop listening to those around us and see what works for us.” Emmrich sat in thoughtful silence, his palms slowly pressing against each other, creating a soft, muffled sound. The furrowed lines on his forehead mirrored the intensity of his contemplation.

“We could bone it out.”

“I see you’ve made the company of Davrin as of late.”

“Well I preferred the company of someone else, but that someone else seemed to have been listening to someone else–others–other people.” The thoughts made sense in her head, but when they were spoken, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Emmrich let out a hearty chuckle, the sound warm and comforting, and the uneasy atmosphere lifted, everything once more in its rightful place. “Alright. I think it’s time we get you to sleep.”

“We could do other things besides sleeping, you know.” Rook’s suggestive words left a lingering sense of mystery in the conversation.

“Darling, I’m flattered, but I will, unfortunately, have to decline, given your current condition.”

“My condition?”

“Rook, you’re clearly drunk and I would never–” Emmrich said as he got to his feet. In an attempt to grab him, Rook overextended, narrowly avoiding a face-plant onto the dusty wooden floor, as Emmrich caught her just in time.

“Please stay.” Rook asked with pleading eyes, her voice filled with longing.

Emmrich’s jaw clenched tightly, a faint grinding sound echoing in the room, as he processed his thoughts. The air carried a tinge of tension, permeating the space with an almost palpable heaviness.

“No boning, I promise.” Rook added for emphasis.

“Only if you stop referring to sex as boning.”

“Deal.”

Emmrich settled in beside her, the confines of the small space pressing against them, yet Rook’s hand found his arm, pulling him closer until he was molded against her. As much as she didn’t want to think about it, the image of his thin frame, barely concealed by the sheer fabric, filled her mind, intensifying her desire.

“I love your nightgown.”

“Thank you.”

“I would love it even more if it was on the floor.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Emmrich’s chest, the vibration jolting them both.

“Perhaps if you still feel so passionately about it, I might indulge you in the morning.”

“You’re such a tease. But I hope that’s a promise.”

“It is. Now sleep, dearest.” He said, his lips brushing against her hair as he pulled her closer, leaving a tender kiss on the back of her head.

Emmrich held Rook close, his warmth a comforting blanket, and she soon drifted off to sleep.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #rook #davrin #lucanis dellamorte #ao3 writer #ao3 #fanfic

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skymagpie · 11 months ago

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I recently read "The Last Guardian" and I am absolutely delighted by it, I feel like when it comes to Khadgar content this is a huge "must read" because the whole book is just so good-natured despite the fact that this sets off a never-ending series of deeply traumatizing events for Khadgar.

Here's some things that canonically happen in this book and that I just found so endearing or fun:

The Kirin Tor literally sends Khadgar off to Medivh because Khadgar kept wandering the halls of the Violet Citadel at night and being so nosy that he caught his professors on drinking binges, sleeping with students or trying to summon demons. Medivh knows that they sent him here hoping he dies because he knows too much.

Khadgar rambling and babbling and being delightfully awkward

Khadgar forgets how to talk when he meets Medivh and makes some strange sound to which Medivh asks Moroes if "the lad is ill."

Medivh having scheduled times for breakfast, lunch and dinner and keeping to them. Also he and Khadgar are just eating porridge with sausages for breakfast every day when he is around.

Khadgar having his inscription set with him that he carries all neatly packaged and tidied up, even though he is this scruffy dirty looking teen boy.

Lothar and Medivh both have this dad relationship with Khadgar, but Lothar is like the cool supportive dad who would take you to a soccer game and would support you at pride with the wrong flag.

During this particularly deep conversation about time and space, Medivh encourages Khadgar to have a bit of wine, Khadgar gets a little tipsy and then Medivh encourages Khadgar to live a little and try to levitate e mug with his magic even though he has been drinking - naturally it ends with Khadgar cleaning the floor afterwards.

When Medivh falls into a coma after their demon encounter at Stormwind, he entrusts Khadgar with handling his mail and Khadgar spends most of his free time sitting next to Medivh's bed and reading him the mail - especially the funny parts.

In the same situation when Medivh wakes up, he sees the startled Khadgar on the floor (after a vision of Sargeras) and softly asks him why he didn't ask Moroes to set up a bed for him there if he wanted to stay in his room.

Khadgar goes very quickly from "Guardian! There is an ORC in the tower!!!" to "Garona is my friend :)"

Khadgar and Garona spend a lot of time rebuilding the library after Garon thrashes the place in order to save Khadgar's life. They make a makeshift woodwork station in the stables outside Karazhan.

Khadgar has like a lowkey puppy crush on Garona and this is actually innocently cute.

Khadgar and Garona on the road when they flee from Medivh is such a nice sequence because they protect each other (from the orcs and humans who would hurt the other one) and also about the fact that they feel betrayed by Medivh. Also Khadgar just wants her to like and trust him 😭

Lothar gets Garona to wear the Stormwind armor by telling her that it matches her eyes and that Khadgar will wear it - and then Khadgar also tells her it matches her eyes and she looks good in it. Lothar using elementary school level tactics to get them to wear the Stormwind armor is so funny.

I just feel like this book was really fun and the pacing of the story was great between building up Medivh as an antagonist who genuinely cared for Khadgar, solving the murder-mystery around him and had the right amount of just daily domestic stuff between Khadgar and him and Khadgar and Garona. Not to mention the excellent parallels between Medivh losing his youth and waking up as an old man and Khadgar losing his youth while also going through what is a very sad coming of age story for him.

#world of warcraft #khadgar #medivh #the last guardian #garona halforcen #the warcraft film really threw the ball here with their adaptation bc they took out all that made this part of the lore so heartfelt #like these chars care so much for each other and none of that made it in the warcraft film #also a lot was stolen from khadgar and given to lothar and medivh like his plot with garona is SO good #also bisexual khadgar is real btw my uncle works at blizzard

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winternet-s · 5 months ago

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𝐋𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄 - g. satoru

summary : after a rough day your friends encouraged you to go to the festival of the village, the moment of dance came into the frame, and by changing partners destiny gave you that one brown-haired man.

notes : it is inspired by the song "La Foule" by Edith Piaf if you understand the lyrics then 🫶🏿 there's a translation online for the ppl who do not understand French!

──── After an especially grueling day, your friends insisted on dragging you to the village festival to lift your spirits. The vibrant atmosphere was filled with colorful lanterns, laughter, and the enticing aroma of food stalls. Despite your initial reluctance, the infectious energy began to seep into your mood, lightening the weight of your earlier troubles.

"Come on, you'll have fun," your best friend nudged you playfully. "You need this."

With a reluctant smile, you allowed yourself to be pulled along. As evening fell, the band struck up a lively tune, signaling the start of the traditional village dance. People gathered in a large circle, and your friends eagerly pushed you towards the center.

"Go on, it'll be fun!" they encouraged.

The dance was a flurry of movement, partners changing every few steps. You were twirled and spun, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. Then, as if by some twist of fate, you found yourself face-to-face with a man who stood out even in the bustling crowd. He had tousled brown hair and striking blue eyes that seemed to twinkle with a hint of mischief. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn't look away.

"Hello there," he said with a charming smile. "Care to dance?"

Before you could respond, his hand found yours effortlessly, and you were drawn into the rhythm of the dance. His lead was confident and smooth, making you feel as if you were gliding. The world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the music and the two of you.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

"(Y/N)," you replied, breathless. "And you?"

"Satoru," he said, his smile widening. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

As the music played on, you lost yourself in the dance. Each step felt synchronized, as if you had danced together countless times before. The crowd around you faded, and for a few magical moments, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

"So, (Y/N)," Satoru said, spinning you around gracefully, "what brings you to the festival tonight?"

"My friends dragged me here," you admitted with a laugh. "I had a rough day, and they thought this would cheer me up."

"Looks like they were right," he said, a twinkle in his eye. "I can't remember the last time I had this much fun." The music reached its crescendo, and Satoru pulled you close for a final spin. As the dance ended, you found yourself inches from him, your breath mingling in the cool night air.

"Thank you for the dance," he murmured, his voice soft. "I don't think I've ever enjoyed a festival as much as tonight."

"Me neither," you said, your heart pounding. "This was...unexpected."

"Unexpected, but wonderful," Satoru agreed, his smile turning a bit more serious. "Would you like to walk around with me? There's still so much to see." You nodded, and the two of you wandered through the festival, talking and laughing as if you had known each other forever. Satoru was charming and funny, and you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't expected.

"Tell me about your rough day," he said at one point, his tone gentle. You hesitated, then shrugged. "Just work stuff. Nothing I couldn't handle, but it was one thing after another. I was pretty down before coming here."

"Well, I'm glad you came," Satoru said. "It's funny how a random encounter can change your whole day, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you agreed, smiling up at him. "It really is." As the night grew late, the festival began to wind down. Your friends found you, their eyes widening in surprise when they saw you with Satoru.

"Looks like someone had a good time," one of them teased.

Satoru chuckled. "I'd say so. It was a pleasure meeting you, (Y/N). I hope we can do this again sometime."

"Me too," you said, feeling a flutter of excitement.

With a gentle kiss on your hand, Satoru bid you goodnight, disappearing into the crowd. As you walked home with your friends, you couldn't help but feel that destiny had played a hand in bringing you and Satoru together. The village festival, with its lights and music, had become the backdrop for the beginning of something extraordinary.

"Do you think you'll see him again?" your friend asked as you walked home.

"I hope so," you said, smiling at the memory of his smile. "I really hope so."

The rough day that had begun so bleakly had ended in a way you could never have imagined. And as you lay in bed that night, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

winnie's notes : it's been a WHILE yeah but here a mini one shot for you guys simple and cute !

#anime x reader #fluff #female reader #la foule edith piaf #please comment #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #short one shot #xreader

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ruggiethethuggie · 1 year ago

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SEBEK X GN!READER

WC: 701 tags: one shot, idk comfort ????, sebek zigvolt, gn!reader, mild cussing, teasing (i mean this in a SFW way !!!!!!!!!), they make fun of sebek for being loud >:?, not proofread go figure

a/n: to be honest, i said i was done writing and was going through my docs and found this... i wrote this out of anger (which is kinda funny) because i kept seeing people be mean about sebek awhile ago, and yes, if i was a violent person i would like to hit all of you who say things like this about that tall, mint green haired, greenish yellow eyed, pretentious ding dong of a man, how dare you- he is baby.

All eyes were on you as you stood there clenching your fist, gritting your teeth, and glaring at the other first years in front of you. You had had enough of it. All the times they made jokes about “oh, I wish I had duct tape” or “oh god, here comes loud mouth” every time Sebek would go to give his input on something, Sebek acted as if it didn’t bother him, but you? It bothered you more than you thought it would. “One more word, and I swear by all things vested in me, I will hit you so hard, you’re going to be begging Sam for a magic potion to heal your wounds- external and internal.” Your voice was stern and slightly aggressive so they took you seriously.

“We were just joking,” Deuce said quietly. He could tell by the look on your face that you meant business, you didn’t find their little jokes funny at all. “Sorry, Sebek,” Jack apologized. Jack never partook in the endless jokes and teasing Sebek endured from the other first years, but he was never the person to ask them to stop either. You gave each of the first years a look that you hoped would be engraved into their souls before turning around and going back to your desk. You angrily opened your notebook and started writing, not really sure what you were even trying to write down, but trying to find something to do to occupy your heated mind.

After a few minutes, you could hear the boys go back to having their frivolous conversation, but you looked up as you saw someone standing beside you from the corner of your eye. Your gaze met that of the tall, green-haired Diasomnia student’s. Your eyes wandered the room confused as you sat up at your desk, looking past Sebek to see if the first years put him up to some stupid prank, but none of them were paying either of you any attention anymore. “Yes, Sebek?” you said as you put your pencil down. “I just wanted to tell you thank you,” he responded. “Hmph, you shouldn’t let them be shitty to you all the time,” you scoffed as you went back to writing. Sebek chuckled and took the seat beside you. “Maybe not, but I appreciate you saying something nonetheless. But why’d you feel the need to stand up for me?”

The look in his eyes was genuine, he truly didn’t understand why you felt so offended by their words and actions when they never directly affected you. “Well.. because it’s rude for one. And I don’t care what you say, I know it bothers you.” The look you gave him told him you could see right through his lies he always tried to deny. He smiled softly as he looked down for a second. “You got me, let’s say it does bother me. It’s not that big of a deal to make you say something though.” You narrowed your eyes at him, not that big of a deal? “If it’s even slightly hurtful, then it’s a big deal. You can’t just ignore it. They’ll just keep doing it over and over again. They make me so mad sometimes.” Your gaze changed from Sebek to the other first years across the room, laughing and enjoying each other’s company it seemed.

“I just hate how they treat you, makes me feel all defensive. Like someone is attacking me at the same time.” Sebek shook his head at your words. “The words aren’t directed at you though,” he chuckled again. “You’re a bundle of heated anger right now, aren’t you? Why don’t we go somewhere after class. We can go walk through the botanical gardens? How does that sound?” You rolled your eyes at his words, but going to the garden might make you feel better, or at least you hoped it would. “Fine, Sebek. We can go after class.” You looked over at him, seeing him smiling back at you, and you playfully stuck your tongue out at him. “Stop staring at me, weirdo.” He laughed at your words and pulled out his own notebook to finish writing notes of his own.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt fluff #sebek zigvolt imagines #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twst fluff #twst comfort #sebek comfort

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profoundbondfanfic · 1 year ago

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Beware the Wanderers by SillyBlue [Teen and Up, 3k words]

Whenever one of the elusive Wanderers came through the village, Castiel's mother would try to hide him away. All his life Castiel has been told the scary stories: Wanderers stole hearts and left people to die. Castiel knew to be cautious around them. When one particular Wanderer visited to purchase goods from Castiel, he intended to guard his heart well. But it proved to be easier said than done, because Dean was incredibly charming.

Cursed Or Not by Ltleflrt [Explicit, 115k words]

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it. When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse. It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up.

Enchanted Tea Emporium by mazenoodle, violue [Teen and Up, 10k words]

As an experienced witch, Castiel has seen many captivating sights in his life. However, nothing he's seen has ever had him quite as entranced as the sight of the man in the flower shop across the road, unloading items from the back of a truck.

Evidence of Dark Magic by hollyblue2 [Teen and Up, 3k words]

When researching a remedy for a client, Castiel finds that it's not what it first seems... which means a trip to the council and Dean and Castiel end up with more than they bargained for.

Forbidden Fruit by Kitmistry, PieDarling [Teen and Up, 92k words]

There’s one thing ingrained into every vampire’s brain since they were born: Never trust a witch. But with rogue vampires threatening to expose all of them to the humans, and Men of Letters rallying against them, Alpha vampire John Winchester has to do the unthinkable: ask the witches for help. Dean follows his father on the trip to meet with the High Priest despite the bloody history between their people. What he doesn’t expect is the undeniable attraction between him and the High Priest’s brother. Castiel is surprised when the Alpha’s son appears at his window in the middle of the night, but Dean is funny and charming, and quickly gets on his good side. When Dean is arrested for an attempt on Michael’s life barely an hour after he’s left Castiel’s room, Castiel has to decide who he trusts more: his brother or his gut? After generations of bloodshed and war, will a common enemy be enough to unite their families?

Just Your Heart, In Exchange For Mine by noxsoulmate [Mature, 46k words]

Dean owns a bakery and Castiel loves his pie. This could be such a cute little bakery love story – if it weren’t for the fact that one was a retired hunter and the other one a powerful witch. There’s also the matter of the black little cat Dean finds in front of his bakery one cold and rainy night. Not to forget the crazy witch on the loose, ripping out other witches’ hearts.

Moonflower by K_K_TiBal [Teen and Up, 18k words]

Castiel is not a very good witch. He's just not. He struggles with potions, illusions, divination - everything that makes a witch respectable, and his familiar - Dean - definitely deserves better than him. When Dean falls under a curse that seems to affect his shape-shifting abilities, Castiel and Dean begin to run out of money, and Castiel decides the best thing they can do is go after a rare Moonflower to help get themselves back on their feet. The journey could be dangerous, especially considering Castiel's less-than-ideal abilities and Dean's curse, but with a little luck, it will all be worth it in the end.

Seven Minutes in Hell by stardustpaths [Mature, 12k words]

A poster next to the door seemed to mock Dean, with its bright pink letters SPEED DATING and LOVE AT FIRST SIT laughing in his face. Right. Like you could actually find love after talking to someone for seven minutes. One night stand? Sure. But love was a whole different thing. Speed dates usually last from three to eight minutes. This one took Dean and Cas almost twenty four hours.

Strawberry Moon by casblackfeathers [Explicit, 97k words]

As a child, Castiel used to fall asleep with his mother telling him bedtime stories of the prophecy she had foreseen for him — how the Strawberry Moon would one day reveal the familiar he was destined to be with. However, it’s been twelve years since the heart-wrenching day Castiel last saw the one he hoped was meant for him, and at twenty-eight, with his magic quickly dwindling, he knows better than to keep believing in such foolish dreams. Castiel's resolve falters with the return of his long-ago teenage crush, Dean. The familiar’s evergreen eyes and rainbow aura are still as captivating, but his past is shrouded in mystery, one that could hold the answer to what drove them apart all those years ago. Maybe the peculiar tabby cat who seems to have taken a liking to Castiel is what it takes to make Castiel believe in the moon with shades of pink again.

Such Familiar Magic by saltnhalo [Explicit, 26k words]

When solitary witch Castiel finds an injured dog unconscious in his garden, he takes it in. He's expecting to heal it, look after it for a few days, then perhaps return it to its owners. He's not expecting it to be one of the strongest familiars he's ever met.

The Return Policy by castielrisingabove [Mature, 32k words]

What's the worst spell an asexual witch like Castiel could cast? Turns out it's the kind that gets him accidentally bonded to an incubus named Dean. Now, Castiel's stuck on a road trip with a sex demon companion as the unlikely pair search for another way to break the bond.

Unbound by through_shadows_falling [Explicit, 85k words]

In a world where Witches and Familiars depend on each other to survive, Dean Winchester remains Unbound, and his magic—and life—is dwindling. Dean has accepted his fate, even if his family hasn't. After all, what can he do about it? But then a man stumbles into his life who just might be Dean's Witch, but for some mysterious reason, refuses to Bond. On top of that, there's trouble brewing on the horizon, and it seems that Dean's caught right in the thick of it. Can Dean convince the stranger that they need each other, before it's too late for the both of them—and their world?

Unfamiliar by riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 29k words]

“We all know that Familiars will be the closest to you. Your bond with a Familiar will transcend family, friends, and even your future husband or wife. A Familiar becomes a part of you, and you a part of them.” Mr. Adler’s dull tone rolls across the auditorium and it’s clear to everyone that he doesn’t care about the topic. It makes Castiel feel bad for his Familiar. “Now, can anyone tell me why Witches need Familiars and why they need us?”

#destiel #group rec #halloween #witch!dean #witch!castiel #familiar!castiel #familiar!dean

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