#gold whiskey sunshine

[dmitriene]

cw: poorly described virginity, simon likes staning pure things, kidnapping.

outlaw!simon riley meeting you as nothing but a pretty waitress at a saloon, standing out among the dimly lit vast room in that you did not look like anyone from the crowd, only an indiscriminate mess of men around you, drunken workers, alcoholics, loudly screaming lovers of starting a conflict, and just someone hiding with a cheap prostitute, cheating on his wife behind the walls of home abode.

simon sees it's like some cruel joke alive, you look like you've just just run away from your daddy's cozy, rich home, or from the convent boarding house like a typical good girl, too bloody clean for this place, and maybe that's why he's enveloped in incomprehensible emotions, clouding his mind with thick wisps of smoke as he moves through the roaring crowd to the farthest table, hiding not only behind the scarlet mask on his face, but also in the murkiness of an unlit corner.

you're not walking around the room, you're sliding, a long dress fluttering at your ankles, open by light shoes with a small heel tapping on the parquet, to the beat of softly played music on the piano nearby, allowing you to occasionally wag your rounded hips under the many skirts of your dress, not paying much attention to the visitors' gliding glances at your bouncing cleavage, but you feel a burning gaze on the back of your neck, until you free your hands from the freshly placed orders, and finally notice a new visitor.

simon catches your gaze on him, his pale eyelashes barely visible in the darkness that envelops him as if in a kinship embrace, so you don't see how his oppressive gaze focuses on the curves of your body, dark irises dilate to swallow the perilous blackness of his lazily hooded eyes, swirling deep with something unsettling, yet you are too pure to notice the clinging, engrained filth on his hands and the meaningfulness of his gaze, smiling greetably like a ray of morning sunshine, closing the distance between you and his table to take an order.

he orders a whiskey, cocks his head aside to lick his eyes up from your toes to your head, and you just pull on a bigger smile and nod obediently, not a word about his rough tone of voice, about the absence of a nice plea for you to bring him some, you go to the counter with your toes turned around and take one of the many brown bottles to fill a nice, clean faceted glass, pouring three fingers of alcohol that smells clearly of vanilla and spice, melting onto the leather and tobacco that penetrates simon's nose as soon as you come back and put the glass next to his gloved hand with a thud.

you peer cautiously through your wispy eyelashes when he hoists the black fabric with skull jaw up, bunching it beneath the edge of the crimson, as well skull shaped mask to take a sip from the glass, and you look at his thin chapped lips that he moistens with tart alcohol, the opened curve of his neck where the mask no longer touches the high collar of his dark shirt, adorned with a gold trinket engraved with a scorpion, and when his lips suddenly stretch in a toothy grin, creasing his eyes that now gleam with amber glows, you almost shriek and turn around, feeling your cheeks warm up.

and simon is not a good man at all, maybe as good as an outlaw can be, but it's nothing compared to your pureness, an innocent glint in your shyly running eyes, clean hands that easily wipe the dirt picked up from visitors on a small, light apron on your waist, and more than once he spoiled things that seemed beautiful to someone, just as he has long lost all shame and sympathy for such things, besides, looking at your reaction, he is quite sure that you yourself would not refuse to end dirtied up, by him.

with your curious glances, the fiddle of your fingers that tremble at contact with his own, not like with everyone else, as he brushes his whole palm against your hand on purpose while crooning about how unsuitable you look around there, and he can't blame himself for the longing want of bending you right here when you giggle, a little ringing sound that provokes him to squeeze his knees under the table because his empty glass is in your hand, and his suddenly aching cock makes his trousers too tight.

it's night behind the wide glass windows at the entrance when people begin to disperse, and the saloon seems to shrink when it's just the two of you, he's still at the rounded, wooden table, and you're knocking empty bottles behind the counter, putting them in a wooden box to return to the storage room, noticing simon's figure behind you not immediately, only when he runs his hand along the curve of your waist and to the dip of your hip, snuggling almost close to your ass, and you shudder barely perceptibly when he hoarsely offers to help.

you don't act surprised or either hard to get when he slaps the wooden door of storage room behind you two, twisting the key and sprawling two heavy hands at your hips, hurriedly turning you to face him before his lips descend against yours, lips open wide in knocked, whiny gasp, when he shoves his tongue in a wet, sloppy kiss between your slack lips, tugging you against him by snaking his hand behind you, pressing onto the small of your back, as he walks you towards the wall.

simon sees how you give him the reins, clumsily following the movement of his tongue in your mouth as he runs it over your teeth and curls the muscle around your own, ripping at his leather gloves that fly off towards the closer of the shelf, getting lost there when his bare, scarred arms bunch your skirts up and he hoists your body, making your legs loope around his waist, heels slipping off with a thud against the wooden floor, and when his touch rubs up your knees and swipes to your thighs, he almost howls at finding the pantaloons that are so uncomfortable to take off.

it's a loud rip of fabric that makes you gasp, sound swallowed by his hungry mouth, as his thick fingers find your puffy folds that drip off with saccharine wetness, making his digits tacky as he spreads your folds and toys at your peaking, neglected clit, as you kick your feet, head tilting back against the wall, making you retreat from the kiss with a shy, whiny moan, and simon smugly sure you have an virgin little hole that drips just for him, wetting the short curls of your pubic hair.

you sweat when he unzips his trousers and let's his fat cock bob out, the veiny girth of him, twitching with oozing, pearly precum that dribbles down his uncut, rudy length makes you throb, and he feels it, fingers already buried in your stretching cunny that is gooey with your glossy juices, coating his digits in glistening sheen as he thrusts them in you, fisting along his leaky dick with other hand, lining up with your pulsing entrance just as he starts to slip his fingers out.

he reinvents you for himself, stretching your thin, silken walls around the meaty girt of his cock, letting you feel every inch that pistons slowly in and out of you, careful, not nearly enough so you won't feel the sting, yet you still moan prettily, each wet glide making you tighten with rapid pulse of your tight walls, snug around every vein that rubs against your gooey insides, the hold of his fingers are bruising at your thighs, staining them with your slick that were clinging to his fingertips, as you moan with strained, whiny mewls.

simon fills you up when you get too tight, starting to arch off the approaching feeling, making his hands glide from your thighs towards your round, plush hips, gripping onto them to grind his cock inside of you, thick cockhead slamming against your spongy little spot with small, deep circles, his eyes boring into the sight of your eyes rolling back, sparks erupting behind your eyelids with each canting movement of his hips, and you wail when his cock jerks and spills ropes of cum against your cervix.

your whole body spasms, the thin walls of your pussy that milk his cock, your legs that tighten around his waist, the painfully arched spine, as your head tilts aside, eyes glassy with eyelids growing heavy, simon's hands moving to support you behind your back, cradling your slowly limping body against his sturdy, clothed chest, as the other finds purchase at the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder, letting you breathe into lulling scent of smoke and leather that clings to him like from a bottle of whiskey.

simon's cock still carved in you, your pussy spasming, dripping his milky cum down onto the wooden floor, and there's a satisfied growl rumbling in his chest, the one that makes you nuzzle closer, huffing at his scent and curling your body, and he's never been one to believe in the rules of being obligated to marry a girl with which you've been fornicate, but there's no way in the whole west that he's gonna leave you in this saloon for anyone to have, after being marked by his seed.

not that you have anywhere to run when you wake up at the dawn of a new day, uncomfortably wet between your legs, rocked up and down, fluttering your eyes only to be meet with silent, empty outskirts of the wild west, while cradled against simon's chest, one of his hands holding the horse's rains, making the animal ride slowly, as he holds you close with the other, feeling easily the way you shift, his gaze snapping down at you with a leery twinkle, a crooning purr of “good morning, darlin'„ slipping from under his mask.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ghostlysoaps]

Inspiration - @ghcstao3

There's something to be said about the way John "Soap" MacTavish, notorious for his fleeting fancy of any given subject when off an op, hasn't been able to get Simon Riley out of his head. Granted, even before "The Incident" his lieutenant occupied his thoughts frequently. But now, oh, not a minute goes by where his attention doesn't stray, where his eyes aren't drawn to Ghost’s hulking figure, and he wishes they'd been stationed literally anywhere else but the monotone grey of autumnal England.

His sketchbook is filled with pages upon pages of studies. Greens and browns and gold – the myriad of colours hazel can be – despite how none of them feel right. Too saturated, too dark, too light. Too much or too little. Then again... it is near impossible to recreate a work of art after a mere fleeting second of studying the original. La Gioconda del Prado wasn't made with a peripheral glance at Da Vinci's subject – so how is Johnny to do the impossible?

-

"Spar with me."

Ghost pauses with his fork mid-way to his mouth. A mouth Johnny would gladly analyze at length, or map with his own one day, if not for the unhealthy obsession he's taken with Ghost's eyes.

One thing at a time.

His irises are shadowed by the tilt of his head and the presence of eyeblack but there is a subtle difference between them. Johnny is fool enough to think he can see it no matter how shit the lighting. Deluded, even, if his long-suffering best friend is to be believed. They're also dark with question, narrowed with thoughts and opinions kept close at heart.

"Alright," Ghost says and pushes the rest of his dinner away, pausing briefly as if to say something before ultimately deciding against it.

Johnny follows him with a pronounced bounce in his step and speeds through stretching and warming up. It'll be a killer tomorrow but that's a problem for future Johnny. Sore muscles are a small price to pay if it means settling a mystery.

They take their places, circling each other lazily. Johnny, ever the impatient one, lunges first and ends up with Ghost's heavy weight straddling the small of his back a couple minutes later. He grinds his teeth and heaves himself back to his feet. Sweat beads at his temples, his neck, trickling down his spine. Alight with purpose, he throws himself back in the fray.

He sways out of Ghost’s reach, blocking and evading, bouncing on the tips of his toes, throwing punches when it's fitting while he awaits the perfect time to strike. They're both grinning. It's plain as day on his own face, more subtle on Ghost's. The way the corners of his eyes crease gives him away, the shift of his plain balaclava as his lips twitch.

Johnny is focused on them like a bloodhound on a scent and when Ghost tosses his head, tilting it up with a roll of his shoulders, the florescent lights catching them just so.

Oh, is all he can think with the truth of him laid plain to see – how Johnny had been right all along. They differ subtly in darkness but when cast in either sunshine sepia or lightbulb white the contrast between them is stark. One is the deep, dark of pine, a forest green with too many hues to accurately count. It compliments the wooden brown of tree-trunk bark, flecks of whiskey-gold therein framed by pale lashes of nearly the same colour.

A modern day Medusa who stops him dead in his tracks, mesmerised, as Ghost's fist slams into the side of his face with the concentrated power of an eighteen-wheeler barreling into a concrete wall.

-

Ghost's face swims back into view an undetermined amount of time later. Worry etched into the tense way he carries himself. His hands are cupping Johnny’s cheeks, thumbs stroking once under his lower lids before they tilt his head back a fraction. He hovers close, peering into Johnny’s eyes as if they hold the secrets of the universe therein.

"Fuckin' hell Johnny. Anything broken?"

Johnny blinks at him, a dopey smile spreading over his lips like molasses.

Ghost, if anything, looks even more worried.

"Talk to me, Sergeant."

"You've beautiful eyes."

Ghost freezes in place. Gobsmacked, if Johnny were to put an expression to it. He murmurs a string of delightfully innovative curses under his breath, manoeuvring Johnny to sitting upright, and the change in vantage point only makes him a little bit dizzy. The dark spots dancing before his eyes is nothing new, honestly, but they are annoying when they're ruining his view.

"Knocked what little sense you had left right out of your head, huh?" Ghost sounds amused and Soap realises, belatedly, that he might've said all that out loud. "Price'll have a field day with this."

"Take some responsibility an' kiss it better then."

"You're concussed."

"Och aye, an' whose fault is tha'? You and yer bonnie eyes. Could get lost in 'em, y'ken?"

"You're off your head, mate."

"Ahm'nt! An' if you'd jus' stay still for a moment an' lemme look at ye, this wouldn't 'ave been an issue," Johnny grumbles indignantly. Grumbles, because whining is for children and it never works in getting him what he wants anyway. Ghost usually looks at him with the flattest stare imaginable whenever he tries. Horrid man. Johnny kind of wants to kiss him about it.

"Tell you what, Johnny. If you're good–" Ghost slings his arm over his shoulder, kindly ignoring the way his words leave him shivering, "–i'll let you look all you want."

Johnny leans against him when he's levered to his feet, swaying like a branch caught in the wind. "I can be good."

"Mmh. You're gonna listen to the nurses once I drop you off at medical?"

Soap groans and smushes his face deeper into Ghost’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes."

-

Ghost keeps his promises, it is an irrefutable fact, and Johnny can and will take advantage of that with shameless abandon.

Crawling into Ghost's lap with a shit-eating grin, paints and brushes well-within reach, wobbling precarious on his perch until Ghost takes pity and steadies him with scorching hands on his hips feels like a victory despite the dull throbbing in his temple and purpling bruises lapping up the side of his face. There are no protests when he guides Ghost's head this-way-and-that. No complaints are heard even when the warm glow of his bedside lamp shines at his eyes and their kaleidoscope of colours become present again. Ghost keeps his gaze unwavering focused when Johnny's hands rest on his face in a mirror of the day prior – though his eyelids droop down the fraction of an inch. It's intense and intimate and Johnny, no stranger to selfishness when he can get away with it, can't help but be greedy.

"Can you be good for me now, Simon?"

His lieutenant nods as far as Johnny’s hands allow and though him closing his eyes is the opposite of good, Johnny can't fault him when his own slide shut as he brings their faces together for the first time – a new obsession flaring to life in the wake of lips brushing fabric.

[harryslittlefreakk]

harry turns 30

summary: a filthy smutty blurb about harry’s birthday 🎈💖

warnings: fluff, mostly pure smut (use of sex toys, restraints , sex ) xx

a/n: i wrote this with late night talking!rry in mind but it isn’t really specified 🙈 i can’t believe harry is 30!!!!! happy birthday to my bf !!

my masterlist can be found here 🫶🏼

“What’s all this?” Harry chuckled, looking you up and down as he stepped out of the bathroom. You were breathtaking in any moment, but as he looked over you now, laying on his bed in only a tiny lilac lingerie set and holding a miniature birthday cake, he’d gladly die right now. If this was the last thing he’d ever see, he’d go without any regrets. You were always at your most beautiful to him when you were in bed. Whether it was the soft morning light creeping in and illuminating your cute bedhair, or the last rays of evening sunshine making you look soft and cuddly, Harry was completely and utterly smitten.

He padded over to you, a gleaming smile cradled by deep dimples as he crawled to meet you in the middle of the bed. “Happy birthday,” you grinned, holding out the cake for him. There were two gold 3 0 candles on top, the flames flickering softly as he gazed over you. “Don’t have anything to wish for, got everything I’d ever want right here,” he said in the same low voice that had you weak at the knees. “Got to wish for something, baby,” you told him. He closed his eyes and blew out the candles, the hints of a smirk tugging at the corners of his pouted lips. Unbeknownst to you, Harry wished to make you his wife and the mother of his babies, to spend every birthday with you from now until the end of time. “Made one,” he smiled, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes as he looked between you and the cake.

He swiped a finger through the frosting, laughing as he wiped it down your abdomen. “Harry!” you shrieked, setting the cake on the nightstand. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you down the bed until your back was flush with the duvet, before moving over you. Harry leaned down to lick at the vanilla frosting, his tongue soft and warm against your skin. His slow movements sent shivers down your spine. It was clear he was going to enjoy you tonight, his best ever birthday present.

He sucked and nipped at your skin, his mouth trailing slowly up the line of frosting. When he reached the top, Harry’s lips found yours, the intoxicating taste of whiskey on his tongue. He licked electricity into your mouth, currents shooting down your spine just as they did any time he kissed you.

“Got you something else too,” you whispered against his mouth. Harry pulled back slightly and looked at you, something adorably soft in his lust-blown eyes as he wondered what else you could’ve possibly got him. You grabbed the box from under the bed, heart racing as you set it down in front of Harry. Though you knew it would all be fine with him, handing him a box of your kinkiest sexual desires had you suddenly nervous.

His eyebrows furrowed as he lifted the lid, eyes darting over the contents. A pale pink glass butt plug, a silicone bullet vibrator, birthday cake favoured lube, and one of Harry’s ties. You could actually see his cock stiffen as he looked over it all, his cock twitching in his boxers as he realised how much fun he’d have with you tonight.

“You are fuckin’ magical,” Harry purred, one hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in again. His kiss was sloppier and hungrier this time, his mouth moving mindlessly against yours as his hand reached for your pussy. His fingers trailed over the lace, passing over your mound before making contact with your entrance. He looked down, somewhat confused at the sudden warmth of your slick on his fingertips. “Crotchless panties,” you smirked, eliciting a deep groan from Harry. He found your swollen clit in seconds, rolling it between his fingers as you writhed under him.

“Turn over,” Harry panted, watching you get onto all fours with your legs spread for him. The sight of your glistening pussy had him falling apart already. He placed the vibrator in your hand, instructing you to hold it against your clit as he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your tight hole to him. You whimpered at the first vibrations, your clit already sensitive from need.

He squirted the cold lube onto you, working it into and around your tightness with one slow finger. You could barely hold yourself up, the strong vibrations and a new fullness making you writhe and shake. “Fuck, Harry,” you whimpered, hips bucking as he touched the butt plug to your hole. “Y’ready?” he asked, his voice low as he pressed a gentle kiss to your ass cheek. He wouldn’t usually move so fast, but he could see your arousal leaking out of you, coating your inner thighs. You could only moan in response, your core already tight and tingling at just the idea of being filled up in a new way.

Harry pushed the plug into you with a groan, his cock twitching violently as he leaned back to look at you. “Harry, I’m gonn-” you started, your orgasm threatening to tear through your body before he’d even properly touched you. He flipped onto his back quickly, head nudging between your legs to lick into your wet pussy. You had full body shivers, your hand knocking into your skin as you tried to hold in your climax. “Come, kitten,” Harry urged, the warmth of his breath against your pussy adding an extra layer to the insane sensations you were experiencing. That was all you needed to fall apart, a screaming cry falling past your lips as you came undone on top of Harry. He pressed a hand to yours and kept the vibrator held against your clit, lapping into your pussy to collect your juices on his tongue as you cried and moaned through your high.

Once your breathing slowed, he shut off the vibrator, throwing it off somewhere to the side. A wave of relief washed over you, your first release like a weight off your shoulders. Harry pushed you down flat, hands trailing down your back as he leaned down to press a kiss to your flushed cheek. “Doing so good for me princess,” he whispered, eyes searching yours for any sign that you needed a break. Even through fucked out and heavy eyelids, all your hungry gaze told him was that you needed infinitely more.

Harry pulled the tie from the box, grabbing both of your wrists in his free hand. He held them behind your back, wrapping the tie around them tightly. “Keep them there,” he warned. “If you move, I stop.” You nodded, whimpering as his body weight pressed against the butt plug. He landed a heavy blow on your ass cheek, smirking as he watched you hold your hands completely still, totally submissive to him.

“Good girl,” he drawled, pushing his boxers down his thighs. You heard the gentle slap of his erection hitting his belly button, his hand coming between your legs to push them open for him. Harry pushed into you hard, his cock threatening to tear you in two. You hiss at the sensation, fuller than you ever thought you could feel, both your holes completely surrendered to him.

Harry groaned as he pulled your cheeks apart, watching himself drill into you with the beautiful little plug deep in your tightness. You were so wet around him, the squelch of your juices on his cock echoing around the room. He could barely keep himself from coming, watching your cream settle at the base of his cock as he fucked into you. He pulled out of you suddenly, only his head left nudging between your swollen lips. His vision was blurred, stars and spots in his eyes as he gazed down at you, beads of sweat forming across your back. If he didn’t steady himself, he’d explode all over your walls in seconds.

Harry gathered himself, his cock twitching as his hips snapped into yours, plowing his cock back deep into your perfect cunt. He spanked you over and over as he fucked into you, his thrusts so deep you felt as if he could come out of your throat. Each blow on your cheek had you crying out, your arms practically shaking from holding them so still. “Fuckin’ perfect,” Harry groaned, grabbing at your face so he could see more of you, see the pleasure etched deep into your features. You were completely intoxicating to him, a drug who’s high he was constantly searching for. He’d never come down since the first time he fucked you, an eternal buzz.

“Gonna come Harry,” you panted, his hands grabbing a hold of your hips as he rocked into you harder, his tip rubbing against your sweet spot. You cried out through gritted teeth, your juices oozing out of your pussy to coat his thick cock. The way your walls closed around him had his eyes rolling back, his cock throbbing inside of your pussy as your hips jerked under him. You were clenched tight around him, your walls threatening to milk his cock of everything he had.

Harry let go, unable to hold himself together any longer. Your pleasure was too inviting for him, the sounds falling from your lips too filthy to ignore. He shot hot come into you, ribbons splashing against your walls as he grunted and groaned. His thrusts slowed, his grip weakening on your soft hips as he came down from his high. He untied your hands, rubbing gently at the red marks the tie had left.

Harry pulled out of you with a hiss, two quick fingers coming up to stuff the mixture of your juices back into you. His hand moved to the plug, before your tiny voice urged him to keep it in.

He smirked, collapsing next to you on the bed as his chest heaved, exhausted from such a heavy climax.

“Hey.”

“What?” you looked over at him, eyes heavy as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “I love you,” he told you, a gentle blush creeping up his cheeks. “I love you, H,” you whispered, your heart threatening to explode in your chest.

“It might be my birthday again tomorrow,” he smirked, pressing a delicate kiss to the end of your nose. “It can be your birthday every day if it means more of that,” you laughed, wrapping an arm tight around his chest.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @ppleasingg @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz @cicicavill7 @drewsephrry @tswiftsgf @ashleighsss @bikestyles @he6rtshaker @prettygurl-2009 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @teammom4 @chesthairrry @golden-hoax @lilfreakjez @swag13r @cursingatdaylight @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @styleshood4evr @n0vaj3an @luvonstyles @kathb59 @pologoonies @1975troyee @goldenhrry @youcan-nolonger-run @flowerboyhs @everyscarisahealingplace @tommosweetdreams

[leiatalon]

The Eternal Library Romance Character Descriptions:

Part of the writing process is getting to know the characters as the story progresses. I let my characters lead the way. It's one of my favorite parts of being an author.

I've been painting in more details of the game and glossary, and wanted to collect the romance character (RO) descriptions here for you.

Expanded descriptions for the ROs in The Eternal Library:

COLLIN has broad shoulders and green eyes that show bits of gold like sunshine peeking through dense forest. His dark-brown hair is seldom tamed, wild and wind-blown much of the time. Favorite activities are sparring, reading, and hunting in the forests of Crost.

The third-eldest prince, he's a scholar, warrior, and reformed trickster. The least-favorite son, he avoids his father when at all possible, until responsibility is thrust upon him. Collin needs your help to save the kingdom. He's hungry for a relationship with someone who can take him as he is: confused, with insufficient magic and generations of guilt on his shoulders as the descendant of a long line of tyrants.

DORIAN's indigo eyes shimmer with silver. Dragon ink tattoos wind around his wrists, with the hint of more beneath his collar. He wears his dark hair long, but doesn't hide the subtle point of his ears that mark him as Fae.

Bonded with a dragon, his mission is to represent the Kitherin in Minare's court and keep Princess Khanna safe until she and La'rast can be married. Dorian becomes fast friends with Prince Collin, and is the first Fae to openly walk the halls of Minare's castle in centuries.

SEVITAS is stocky and cocky with eyes the color of dark whiskey and the skills to back up his confidence. His face boasts several scars: one across his left eyebrow, one on the same cheek, and another on his chin, showing gray in his otherwise dark beard. His biceps bulge beneath his tunic. So many weapons hang off his frame you're hard pressed to count them all, but the whip clipped to his belt is impossible to miss. Seasoned warrior.

As royalty from Forellia, ANGELINA's sky-blue eyes and golden hair come from Fae blood in her ancestry. She might not have magic, but she can escape nearly anything and look elegant doing so.

Second-eldest princess of Forellia. Cunning wordsmith. Quiet rebel. Kind and witty, she craves authenticity but finds it lacking in most people in her life. Spends more time with her horse than with humans.

MARIENNA is tall and lean with sharp eyes, cropped black hair, and smooth golden-brown skin. She carries short swords and a collection of knives.

Sharp-eyed soldier. A battle-wise warrior with experience as a spy. Secretly a sculptor, though she hasn't shared her work with anyone yet.

GEMMA is petite and fiery. She has bright eyes: one green, one gray. Her sandy-brown hair is often swept up in a bun, but a few strands always escape to frame her heart-shaped face.

Friend and coworker. Castle staff, cleaning crew. Humble optimist. Loves to laugh. Has all the gossip. Once hurt and humiliated by Master Trent, she avoids him at all costs. Gemma has a subtle magic to her. Nurturing. Cheerful. Kind.

You can befriend all of these characters without engaging in romance.

This is a slow-burn romance with optional spice at the end.

This game is best played choosing a single RO for each playthrough. There is one polyamorous route with Collin and Dorian, but all other romances are monogamous and best enjoyed when you focus on one character at a time. ❤️

There will be more opportunities to spend time with each of the ROs as additional chapters are released!

Be sure to Subscribe to my Patreon! 👑 There is a free tier, so it costs nothing to become a member!

THE ETERNAL LIBRARY (Romantasy IF WIP)

What if Cinderella and the prince grew up together?

What if the king was the evil one?

What if the missing piece wasn’t a glass slipper, but ancient memories buried in your soul?

Play the ETERNAL LIBRARY DEMO for Free!

[hailtheaeon]

HOWLIN’ FOR YOU

“Baby, I’m howlin’ for you.” - Howlin’ For You, The Black Keys

WARNINGS: whiskey dick, drunken sex, sloppy sex, giggly sex, oral (both ways), sexual embarrassment

Hand in hand, giggling down the strip, tripping and stumbling, you’d never felt more elated. Well, with Josh you always did. He was a ball of sunshine in every sense of the word and life of the party, but your favorite part was after the party. Both of your tipsy or way more than tipsy selves would stumble back to the hotel while giggling, shit eating grins on your faces, knowing how the night would end. It was usually sloppy, uncoordinated, and fun. But that’s how you liked it after a good night out. You just wanted him to touch you, to kiss you, to nibble on your skin, to drunkenly stumble out of his boxers and almost hit his head on the nightstand. He’d laugh it off, crawling up onto the bed with the pillowy duvet that felt so soft like clouds, hands groping you shamelessly while he would grind himself against your thigh. Half the time you’d almost choke on his tongue, tasting like his favorite cocktail: salty dogs, and either fireball or straight tequila shots.

Tonight would be no different, but, Josh was a little more drunk than usual. Not that you didn’t participate, of course you did. Throwing back a couple shots, sipping on fruity cocktails while he ran up when it was his turn for karaoke. He usually drunkenly sang ‘Uptown Girl’ by Billy Joel or ‘Brandy’ when he was extra drunk. Tonight, he chose ‘Super Trooper’ by ABBA. An odd one, but of course everyone loved it, cheering him on and singing along while laughing as he forgot words or didn’t start quick enough.

You met him offstage, immediately linking elbows with him. “You’re getting sloppy, babe.” you joke, and he presses a slobbery kiss to your cheek akin to a dog licking you. You’re too lazy to wipe it off, pecking his cheek in return.

“I’m havin’ fun!” Josh rolls his eyes with absolutely no annoyance or bitter tone, his big brown eyes practically sparkling.

“I know, I know, you love to party hardy.” you unlink elbows and snake your hand around his waist, patting his hip. He snorts, but leans into your touch.

“Ready to go?” you ask him, whispering in his ear before taking his gold hoop between your teeth to tug at it, trying to make your intent known.

“Mmm…” he hums, pretending to think on it while his eyes dart to the ceiling. His eyes drop back to you, a Cheshire grin forming on his lips. “Maybe one more shot.” His fingers drum over your side.

“We are not doing one more shot, one more shot my ass.” you laugh and manage to drag him out of the bar, his sweaty hand laced with yours, clasping it in a tight grip while he stumbles back through the damp city streets. It was misty, and perfect for a walk back. You were eternally grateful it wasn’t too cold.

Grabbing the key and pushing it up to the entrance door, you fumbled until you heard a beep and shoved you and Josh in as quickly as possibly, quickly opting for the elevator.

He shamelessly groped your ass in the elevator, eyes darting to yours before looking at the floor numbers rise on the tiny screen above the elevator buttons. His foot tapped impatiently, cheeks flushed in the overly fluorescent white light.

Josh immediately grabbed you and grinned when the elevator dinged at your floor, pulling the keycard out of his pocket. He ended up bumping his hip on the wall a few times at his very poor attempt at walking in a straight line.

You didn’t exactly know how but you had ended up inside the hotel room and had even managed to lock the door. Josh pawed at you, groping every inch of skin he could while simultaneously trying to pull off your shirt. It was sloppy and uncoordinated but you couldn’t help but love it, he was so gone for you, so unbelievably needy that he didn’t know what he wanted first. So, you pushed him off you slightly and pulled off your shirt, leaving your bare chest on display for him. He grabbed at your hips, then your sides, then your chest, his mouth reaching over to lick and suck at your neck and collarbones.

His mouth reached up to yours and your teeth clashed, both of you letting out the stupidest giggles into each other’s mouths. “Kiss much?” you tease with a peck to his lip.

“Mmm…” he pecks your lips back, and you can feel his mustache brush against your top lip, making you shudder. “Sometimes.” he grins into his next kiss, hand splayed against the small of your back while he tried his best not to wobble.

You both break apart and manage to stumble into the beautiful king sized hotel bed, laying back on the duvet that felt so soft against the bare skin of your back. You reach your hands up after he pulls his shirt off and immediately go to grab his pecs. “Damn, baby.” you giggle with a grin. “You’ve got some titties.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he laughs, trying to seat your hands away but it’s not out of malice. He sloppily kisses your neck, goosebumps forming over your skin as his saliva cools.

“C’mon.” you flip him over and straddle his stomach, clumsily inching yourself down to his thighs. But, there’s something odd, he isn’t hard.

“Josh..” you frown, slightly confused. You look back down at his crotch which doesn’t have the usual bulge. “Do you not want anything tonight?”

“No!” he immediately defends himself. “I do, I do.” he rapidly shakes his head, hands going to your sides to rub them.

“But you’re not��� hard.” you try your best to say without being too brash.

“Maybe just- maybe just play with it a little, get the blood pumping?” he suggests with a tilt of his head, tan cheeks flushed a strawberry pink.

You nod your head, immediately undoing those horrid khakis you hate that he wears out constantly, that and his stupid white sweatshirt that you’ve tried to hide in the back of the closet. Pulling them off with his boxers, you immediately skip just touching him and opt to go a different route, wrapping your mouth around him. The size difference is comparable, and you can easily get most of his length in your mouth. He jolts, shocked. “Jesus fuck, babe!” he can’t help but laugh out, his breath sucked out of his flushed and sweaty chest.

Your other hand goes to play with his balls, you push your head down and take all of him but not even a twitch, he wasn’t even close to half hard. His dick was still limp in your mouth, a very odd feeling.

After a few minutes of this, you pull him out of your mouth with a slightly disappointed look on your face. “I’m sorry, it’s- it’s not happening. I’m hard in my mind but my dick won’t compute.”

You chuckle at his words, getting ready to just cuddle with him and fall asleep but as you grab your shirt he stops you with a sharp: “No!”

“No?” you tilt your head at him, eyebrow raised.

“Just cause I can’t get it up doesn’t mean I don’t wanna fuck you.” Josh tries to drunkenly explain.

“You can’t fuck me, Josh.” you remind him with a roll of your eyes. Was he just trying to tease you and failing?

“I have fingers.” he wiggles them with a stupid grin. “And my tongue-“

Before he can demonstrate you cover his mouth with your hand, yelping when he bites them. “Okay, okay, I get it.” you shake your head.

“Hop up, pretty.” he pats his cheeks with that stupid kiszka wink. “C’mon.”

“Joshua-“ you protest.

“Nope! Don’t full name me, hop up.” he shakes his head, reaching for your hips.

“But-“

“Up!” he tugs at your hips, pulling you where his shoulders meet his collarbones.

“Mkay.” you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, chuckling at his need to please. If josh was anything, he was a stubborn piece of shit. When he was adamant, there would be no changing his mind.

You quickly lift your hips and pull your underwear down, sliding off of him to kick them off before sitting back onto his chest. “I love dessert.” he giggles before grabbing your hips and immediately shoving you down onto his face.

“Joshua!” you yelp, but before you can get a snide comment in his tongue immediately laps at you.

“Fuck!” your fingers reach up to grip the headboard, he shakes his head so his nose repeatedly brushes against your clit, giving you the best jolts of stimulation.

The sound is downright secular, sinful in nature. But, it felt oh so delicious, way better than anything that money could buy. He lifts your hips up for a moment. “Fuck, baby,” he looks up with glossy eyes. You can’t tell if it’s due to lust or the many drinks he’s had, probably both. “God, you’re so yummy.”

“Yummy?” you snort at his choice of words.

“Yummy, delicious, delectable, tasty, mouthwatering, succulent, exquisite, heavenly, divine-“ he rambles on, listening every possible synonym he knows.

“I get it!” you giggle, stretching your back. Your neck looks back and you can see his dick twitch, looking a little bit harder than before.

“Hold on.” you tell him, flipping yourself around so that you were facing his crotch.

“Is this a better angle for you? You should’ve told me-“ he whines out, and you can almost see his pout.

Your hands splay at his stomach, and you trace your fingers down to his pubic bone. Another twitch. Your eyes light up.

You arch your back, pressing a sloppy kiss to his pubic bone and his hips immediately jolt, a bigger twitch. You lick your lips, lulling your tongue out. The tip of your tongue touches just below his belly button, the start of his happy trail. And you sloppily lap down his happy trail like a thirsty dog. You can hear him groan, sending beautiful vibrations straight to your clit. You moan in response, pressing sloppy kisses to his pubic bone, his happy trail and trimmed pubes glistening with saliva.

In return, Josh happily shoves his tongue inside of you, curling it perfectly to make you squirm and shake in delight. You grabbed his mostly soft dick and pressed kisses to the tip of him, giving him little kitten licks. This just makes him curl his tongue with greater enthusiasm.

“Mhmmmm.” he groans into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of you to suck onto your clit. His tongue flicks at it at a sloppy rhythm, and you’re lucky you’re so horny because regularly this would not be enough to make you cum. But, right now, it feels downright euphoric.

You take him into your mouth, slowly sucking on his tip before moving down an inch, then another. His flicks to your clit become even more sloppy, and he knows that, so, he just suckles the best he can. You groan onto him, his hips buck, sending another inch into your mouth. Thankfully, you don’t choke. Your thumbs rub circles into his hips, fingers scratching the skin above his ass to let him know you were there. But, josh is still mostly soft, and you’re not sure if he’d even be able to cum tonight. Still, you enjoy the closeness of him in your mouth, it feels like you’re intertwined, souls meshing for at least just a moment.

Josh grips your hips tighter, rocking you against his mouth to give you as much stimulation as he can, and you shamelessly rock your hips against his tongue.

“C’mon, baby.” you can hear him mumble from underneath you. His fingers side down and squeeze both of your asscheeks, pulling them apart slightly to have better access between your folds.

After a good minute, you can feel your muscles tighten and your thighs shake. Josh immediately locks his hands on your hips to prevent you from pulling away. You can’t help but shut your eyes, feeling the height of the orgasm crash over you like heavy waves. Your toes curl and you shake, Josh continuing to swirl his tongue.

And then… you relax, pulling him out of your mouth as the serotonin rushes to your brain. You wipe your mouth with the back of your palm and he finally stops. Flopping over, you giggle and look at him with dreamy eyes, still seeing stars.

“Still got it,” he says proudly with a wink.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please, you could barely get close to being half hard.”

He gasps dramatically, hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, truly wounded. I thought you loved me, it’s supposed to be in sickness and in health, you know?”

“I don’t think whiskey dick counts as in sickness, probably in drunkenness. And we aren’t even married so you can’t pull that.” you tease, poking his cheek.

He laughs and pecks your lips. He stretches out, sighing before getting himself up. “‘M gonna brush my teeth. All I can taste is pussy.”

You grab a decorative pillow and throw it at him, hitting him in the back. He yelps playfully and grabs his toothbrush.

[savorypink]

come and stay with us

a series of unfortunate events leads you to an inn.

fluff, smut, dad!alex.

Is there a stronger word for fucked? Doomed? Ill-fated? Wrecked? Should synonyms be on your mind? You're all the above, anyway. Your car's engine had a minor hiccup. Okay, minor is putting it lightly, but perhaps you could gaslight yourself into thinking this isn't a big deal. It'll spare you the tears.

The most crucial meeting of your career is today, but your car couldn't give half of a damn. In fact, your car's capacity for caring is so low that it broke down in the middle of Butt-Fuck Nowhere. If the empty road could morph, it would turn into a smile. It definitely feels like it's mocking you.

Now, you aren’t without options. You got a cell phone. Make a call—or several. There’s your boss; sweet talk him into not firing you. Reschedule your presentation, and it’ll be rainbows and sunshine. Oh, and don’t forget roadside assistance. You won’t last long on foot.

Like a madman, you dig through your purse, nearly tearing the leather to shreds in your haste. Your fingers finally close around the phone. Relief washes over you. Temporarily. The screen is off—odd, but you brush it off. When you press the power button, the low battery icon flashes. A warning. Your heart is in your throat but plummets before the phone shuts down. You don’t even reach the lock screen.

You worked too hard on your makeup. Banging your head against the steering wheel is not an option.

Perhaps you can make it on foot.

As you leave your car to open the trunk, the air is filled with the sweet scent of tree sap. Butt-Fuck Nowhere isn’t without a view. There’s some trees—lots of them, their leaves a vibrant cluster of fall colours. You didn’t hogtie a mechanic and throw him in your trunk, so you’re a little disappointed to see just your suitcases. You haul them out, lock your car, and start walking. But not before giving your car the middle finger. Cardio is fun. This is simply a workout.

The path unwinds before you, dappled with sunlight trickling through the sea of leaves. As you walk, the unmistakable smell of autumn hangs in the air, and the sound of leaves crunching under your pumps is the ultimate ASMR. God, it’s beautiful. The forest is alive with colour—reds, oranges, and golds blending together.

"Don’t do it. Enjoy this." You assure yourself. "You aren’t cooped up in an office. No higher-ups laughing at your ideas. For once, you’re breathing. And it feels easy."

Amidst your tranquillity, anxiety weighs its heavy shadow over your shoulders. Once your phone’s up and running, your first Google search will be "how to put in a two-week notice". The thought of showing your face in that office makes your stomach churn—what’s your boss going to think?

Better yet, what does this say about you? That you’re unreliable? Replaceable? The very things you’ve prided yourself on now remain up in the air.

The colours of autumn blur as you lose yourself in thought, a frigid wind whipping your hair. Maybe you need a change. A fresh start. Something away from the pressure of deadlines and high expectations.

As you round a bend, your pulse quickens. A two-story building comes into view. Ivy scales its stone walls while smoke billows from the chimney. Warm light spills from the windows, casting a glow on the cobblestone path before you.

For a moment, it feels like a mirage; you practically spoke this place into existence. You read the weathered sign before entering. Whiskey Way Inn. Though, the "inn" part is crossed out in red paint. "Lodge" is written above it in its place. Interesting.

Inside, the warmth is blissfully overwhelming. A roaring fire crackles in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the wooden beams. The armchairs around the hearth are plush and inviting with handmade pillows and—do you smell bread? And soup? The rumbling in your tummy proves your previous suspicions wrong. Dead wrong. This place is not a mirage.

Beside you, the small reception desk is vacant. A guestbook decked out in Bluey stickers sits on the counter, alongside some business cards and a pink glitter pen. Well, it definitely feels lived in. But by who? A three-year-old? You notice that the business cards get the same treatment as the sign at the entrance. "Inn" crossed out, but is "Lodge" written in that adorable pink pen. Again, interesting.

"Lilypad," a man’s voice groans. “You’re getting too big for me to carry.”

"Not true!" A smaller voice quips. "You carried a pumpkin yesterday. A big one. I saw you!"

"The abnormally large pumpkin you picked from the patch? Daddy’s back hasn’t known a good day since."

He’s got a tiny human at his side and unruly brown hair. Flour dusts the apron he’s wearing, and small handprints from, you’re assuming, Lily are scattered across it. Their large brown eyes bore into you, but the dad’s eyes linger longer than what feels appropriate. You sure feel crazy for wandering in Butt-Fuck Nowhere with no destination, but you didn’t think you looked the part too. You're still in your work blazer and pencil skirt.

Lily whispers something in his ear, and that very ear turns red when she pulls away. Lily giggles, and just like her, it’s adorable.

"Are you, um," he stammers, clearing his throat. "Checking in?"

You nod. "Kind of. I don’t have a reservation."

He sets Lily down, letting her scurry into the common area. "That’s alright. I’ll take care of you."

I’ll take care of you. Now, it’s something you’ve heard before from almost everyone in your life at least once. You can’t explain it, but the phrase seems more believable when he’s saying it. Is it weird that you want him to say it over and over until you die? His footsteps toward the desk are muffled; your heart is too busy pounding at your eardrums.

"How long are you staying for?" He asks.

The pounding stops. Your car’s abandoned in God knows where. You have a dead phone and a job that’s guaranteed to end after today. You chew on your lip. ‘Forever’ isn’t a booking option, right?

"Put me in for the weekend," you say. This is assuming you’ll have your shit together by then. Though, you aren’t so sure. "I can extend my stay whenever, right?"

"Mhm," he hums as he types. "Just let me know before your check-out time on Sunday at 12. Can I get your number?"

"Pardon?"

"Your number," he repeats. "So I can remind you about check-out and the events we’re hosting. And for emergencies, obviously."

Oh. That’s what he needs it for.

Your heart is back to pounding like mad. You give him the digits, trying to glue whatever’s left of your composure together. Why must the universe embarrass you in front of a man so handsome?

"Great. You’re all set." The innkeeper smiles, handing you a brass key and a business card. When he finishes at the counter, he steps forward, nearly closing the gap between you. The proximity feels just as inappropriate as his staring, but he smells…sweet.

It’s familiar, too, but his forehead colliding with yours keeps you from figuring it out. He was only reaching for the bags at your sides. You exchange your “ows” and sorries, and both of you are reluctant to leave the bubble you’ve created. But eventually, Lily’s dad is taking your bags upstairs.

You’re right behind him, but it feels as if there’s a magnet drawing you to him. You wonder if he’s choosing to ignore it because you don’t see those brown eyes again until he’s dropped your bags in front of the door.

"The Wi-Fi password is on the business card." He boyishly shoves his hands into his pockets but looks as if he's forgotten something. Suddenly, he shoves a large hand between your bodies.

"Alex. My name," he shakes his head, quickly correcting himself. "I mean, my name is Alex. Alexander, if you want."

Smiling, you take his hand, calloused and covered in flour. "Thank you, Alexander."

Alex’s eyes widen, and you get to see that smile again. If Alex were a puppy, his tail would wag a thousand miles, and his ears would perk up. It makes you want to give him head pats and ruffle his tousled hair.

"The pleasure’s all mine," he heads back down the hall but stops somewhere in the middle, taking that sweet scent with him. "Any questions? Concerns? You can text me if anything."

"Yeah. What’s with your business cards?"

He chuckles, flashing a heart-melting smile before disappearing down the hallway. "WWI doesn't look good on most business papers."

You’d do anything to hear that chuckle again. With that, you turn the keys and enter your suite, the room bathed in the warm glow of afternoon sunlight. A welcoming basket rests on the bed, filled with soaps, fall candles, and cookies - one shaped like a ghost and another a pumpkin.

You lean against the door for a moment, attempting to calm the butterflies in your stomach, and then, you realise—it’s cookies. Alex smells like cookies.

—

Alexander has the posture of a banana. That pumpkin must’ve done a number on him. Watching him set the table makes your back hurt, and you want to get up and straighten his back yourself. But when he’s dressed like that, you find it hard to be mad at him.

You'd forgotten about Halloween until you left the suite. Someone's responsible for the caution tape draped across your door and the fake cobwebs you tripped over when coming downstairs. Alex apologised for it, stating, "I let Lily do the decorating. Sorry."

All is forgiven. I mean, how could you not forgive him when he’s dressed as Mario? Hat, gloves, stupid moustache over his beard and everything. There's nothing more charming than a man committed to a bit. Footsteps and rustling fabric fill the room as Princess Peach, earlier known as Lily, rushes to her dad’s side.

"Daddy, I washed my hands!" She exclaims with excitement. "Can I help now?"

"Did you wash your hands with soap, Miss Toadstool?" Alex asks, raising a brow.

Lily looks down at her hands, then books it back into the kitchen. You almost choke on your coffee from holding back a laugh. From behind, Alex lays a hand on your shoulder, squeezing with assurance.

"Don’t worry. She didn't make your coffee. You can help me out if you want."

You set down your mug, smiling. "Anything for the Mushroom Kingdom."

When Alex takes you to the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast is there with warm greetings. Freshly brewed coffee mingles deliciously with the scent of muffins and bacon. You’re embarrassed when your stomach growls a bit too loud, and you swear you catch a chuckle from Alex. It deepens your blush.

The morning sun shines through the window, casting a golden hue on the countertops, and Lily, on a pink step stool, is washing her hands with way too much soap. The bubbles threaten to spill out of the sink, and she’s adorably unaware of the chaos she’s creating.

It's…quite grand. A thing so tiny and cute, making the hottest innkeeper you've met go grey before your eyes? Your heart swells. It's amazing. You can't get this anywhere else.

Alex lifts her off the stool, her hands dripping with suds. "Alright, Princess Peach," he says, setting her on the ground, "the Mushroom Kingdom just passed an ordinance. It’s the Stop Giving Daddy Anxiety law, and it starts today."

—

When was the last time you shared a kitchen with someone? Did you feel yourself wanting to float off the ground? Well, Alex makes it hard to stay grounded. Standing next to him, dicing fruit doesn’t feel like a group project you want to avoid. Unlike at your job, you don’t feel as if you’re trying to complete the picture. You’re already there.

Alex talks about Lily like she’s his best friend. Three days ago, she lost a tooth and got upset when Alex left her just one dollar. You don’t blame the girl, so you took her side.

“A dollar?” you ask in disbelief. “Do you hate her or something?”

He grins, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “Is that not the standard Tooth Fairy rate?”

"Have you heard of inflation? That dollar won't mean anything in a few years. You're setting her up for disaster."

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. "I’ll adjust my fairy budget accordingly."

Lily is also in little league soccer, and she begged him to replace her shoelaces with ribbons. She’s a goalie. The only vegetable she eats without protests is carrots, and ever since this discovery, he’s been growing them in the inn’s garden.

In contrast, when you ask Alex about himself, you can see him searching for the words, almost as if he’s trying to remember who he is. You ask, "What made you want to run an inn?" and you can practically hear the Final Jeopardy music playing in his head.

"I like taking care of people," he says earnestly. "It’s a disease."

You laugh softly, but Alex’s eyes glint with a sincerity that’s hard to miss. "I’m an only child, so I’ve been taken care of for most of my life. Then, I had my kid and…the rest is instinct, I suppose."

He pauses, his gaze dropping to the cutting board. "I've had a whirlwind of a life. Messed around where I shouldn't. Deep down, I want control amidst the oddities of my...brain. So, I grew a beard, moved to the woods, and I have an inn. Seemed destined for it, really."

His honesty is refreshing, but he “messed around” where he shouldn’t have? This guy? The one with the cute kid that makes your heart leap? Maybe in another universe, he’s a dick. But right now, Alex’s words aren’t aligning with him. The infectious, steady calmness around him doesn’t match—and dare you say—the facade.

"Do I want to know where you’ve messed around?” You ask, unable to hide your scepticism.

Alex looks up, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That’s between me and my therapist."

“So I’ll ask Lily,” you joke. “Got it.”

He laughs, and this time, it’s genuine. "She can't share patient information, but I’m willing to compromise. I have a pumpkin that needs carving. An extra set of hands never hurt, no? Help me, and I’ll talk to you."

You finish up with the last of the fruit, carefully placing it into a bowl. "Deal. Would these extra sets of hands hurt when I do this?" you ask, moving behind him.

You gently place your hands on his shoulders and align his back to perfection. Alex winces, but the goosebumps on his neck tell another story.

"Your disease is infectious," you say, taking the bowl and heading into the dining area. "Needed to take care of you."

As he adjusts to his new posture, Alex continues slicing his portion of fruit with a foolish, love-struck grin across his face. The idiot doesn't even realise the bananas are still in the peel.

—

Whiskey Way’s garden is a lush and tranquil sight. On an old, sprawling oak tree, the leaves turn to vibrant shades of red, orange and yellow, creating a colourful canopy ahead. Beds of chrysanthemums replace the summer blooms, their colours fitting right in with the fall palette.

A quaint stone path scattered with fallen leaves spirals through the garden, leading to the porch where you and Alex sit. It overlooks the vegetable patch where Lily's carrots and rows of rosemary, thyme and other herbs grow—their earthy scents sprinkling into the cool air.

Being here feels deliberate. You may not have found Whiskey Way by accident. And it’s certainly not a mistake that Alex brought you to what you’d deem the most mushy-gushy romantic place to spill his guts.

Speaking of guts, you’re knee-deep in pumpkin innards and seeds while Alex is going on about a UFO podcast he listens to in the morning. He’s a tad disappointed that since he’s started gardening, he hasn’t seen a crop circle.

"So they’re real?" You ask, dumping seeds and pumpkin guts into a bucket.

"Visitors?" Alex says this in disbelief, as if you’re asking if breathing is a human necessity. "Yes. Absolutely. They’re real."

"But have you seen one?" You raise a brow, and adorably, he blushes.

"Admittedly, no. But I want to believe in them. Even if they aren’t real, I’m having fun pretending." He turns to you, eyes shining like a boy on Christmas. "What about you? Do you believe?"

You’re compelled to say yes, but only to please the little boy behind those eyes. "I believe, Agent Mulder."

"Thank you, Scully."

When Lily turned three, Alex was diagnosed with depression. As he talks, you can see the walls forming, his eyes unsteady, and his voice trembling. But conversely, you watch as he throws a hammer at each one, breaking them down. You’re as awestruck as you are envious.

What does Alex know about you?

“Can I ask you something?” you say. Alex nods, his hands stilling on the pumpkin.

“What—” you almost bite your tongue. “What does it feel like?”

Alex looks down at the empty pumpkin, pondering your question before speaking. He sets down the carving knife and turns to face you, eyes meeting yours.

"You're a carpenter, and you've built yourself a house. It isn't your best work. You've done better in the past, but there's a roof over your head, so you don't complain. Then, a storm happens. Your roof has some holes and a leak. You patch them up and go about your day. It's not an issue.

“The day after, the storm gets worse. The holes are bigger, and the thunder keeps you from sleeping. You’re exhausted from the first time you've repaired everything. Your patchwork is sloppy this time, but the holes are covered, so you go to bed.

"The storm only gets worse. Your roof is missing, and the water is at your ankles. You can open a door or a window, but if you do, you'll flood the town and everyone in it. So you stay home. You're freezing. You're aching. And the house keeps flooding with you in it."

"Do you feel like that all the time?"

Alex shrugs. "On a good day, I’m lightweight. The garden isn’t neglected. My body isn’t either. Lily, the guests I have. It’s a day where I can...disrobe. A good day feels like today."

The wind rustles the oak tree’s leaves as you prepare to fill the silence, your voice barely a whisper.

"Are you…going to be okay?"

"I’ll be alright."

Alex loves the garden. He's said it about three times. When silence falls between the two of you, Alex would look out into the field, and it wasn’t to shy away from you or an awkward habit. It was his anchor. It kept him grounded, and you can feel yourself sinking with him.

—

Tonight, for the first time since you’ve entered the cosy cavern of Whiskey Way, you’re questioning your colouring abilities. Lily's got it down pat; in fact, she’s the one telling you to stay inside the lines. To be fair, she is the one wearing a crown. Lily's working on a giraffe on the left page, and you’re colouring an elephant on the right.

“Lily,” you pause, peering at her page, “Why’s your giraffe pink?”

“Because.” She keeps her eyes fixed on her masterpiece.

“Because...?”

“Because I said so.” Fair enough.

Also, for the first time, Alex is nowhere to be found. After the pumpkin carving, he’d gone off to prepare for the trick-or-treaters tonight, even though the inn doesn’t get much traction on Halloween. In his own words: “Lily gets a head start on candy, and we get a bowl of candy. Everybody wins.”

There’s something about Alex’s adding of “we” that makes it hard to conceal your smile. Whilst you’re smiling like the biggest idiot, Lily's finishing up her giraffe. She chooses yellow for the spots. What a kid.

“I heard the Tooth Fairy did you dirty.”

“Yeah,” Lily pouts, continuing her colouring. “I only got a dollar.”

“Well, what if I told you I’m…” you trail off, thinking. What is going on between you and her dad? “A close friend of the Tooth Fairy? I promise that you’ll get five dollars the next time you lose a tooth.”

“Five?!” she beams, and you see where that missing tooth ought to be. “Really?”

You draw a cross along your heart. “I swear.”

Alex comes downstairs with a pink, sparkly backpack slung over his shoulder, but Lily intercepts him before he can touch the last step. “Daddy! Guess what!”

Alex raises an eyebrow, looking over at you. "Oh, really? Who made you this promise?" The words are meant for you, and even though your cover is blown, you still try to hold back your laughter.

“It’s a secret,” Lily whispers, giggling.

He chuckles, blushing. "Ah, I see. Keep your secrets. Let's get your shoes on. Mummy's coming to get you, kid."

Alex places her down on the reception desk before grabbing a pair of tiny combat boots from the front door, their laces replaced with pink ribbons. Ribbons must be a Lily signature. As Alex puts the shoes on her feet, you notice he's ditched his costume, donning pyjama pants and a knit sweater, looking more huggable than usual. He's also looking paler than he usually does, tying Lily's laces at an intentional, slow pace. You even see his hands shake.

Alex isn’t ready to let her go.

"You’re gonna bring me lots of candy when you get back, yeah?" He asks.

“Mhm!” Lily nods, all enthusiastic.  

“Good,” Alex finishes tying the left shoe. “Don’t eat any candy before bed. Especially the Twizzlers. Those are for Daddy.”

You and Lily both laugh. “Kay,” Lily says.

The front door creaks open, and the crisp evening air sweeps in. A heeled boot clicks along the floors of the inn, stopping at the reception desk near Lily and Alex. With dark hair cascading down her back and legs for days, you aren’t sure if she scares you or if you want to be her. The world feels like it’s stopped spinning.

Alex ties the right shoe tight enough to make Lily kick. He squeezes her foot to apologise and sets her down, swallowing the visibly large lump in his throat.

You get it. You totally get it.

“She got you to do the ribbons on the boots, too?“ The woman scoffs, taking the backpack from Alex. “Jesus. We might as well buy her clothes at the craft store.“

“Kat,“ Alex says. “Try saying no to that face.”

As Alex gestures to Lily, Kat rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugs at her lips. “Unlike you, I am immune to the charms of a six-year-old girl,“ she looks down at Lily. “Even if she is cute. Lilybug! Ready to get some candy?”

Lily only hears the word ‘candy’. “I am! I am!“ She’s practically bouncing with excitement.

“Stop calling her that,“ Alex’s tone faux-firm. “She wrote it on a test paper.“ Alex kneels down to Lily's level, kissing his palm and pressing it to her cheek. “See you when I see you. And be good.”

She nods and runs over to Kat, waiting with hands folded over her chest. “Now, Lily. When someone tells you to be good, you do everything you can to be on your worst behaviour. Ain’t that right, Daddy-O?”

“Get out of my inn, Katherine.”

Kat sticks her tongue out. “Alex, why do you hate fun? C’mon Lily, let’s go get some eggs, and I’ll show you some real Halloween fun.”

“Katherine,” Alex warns.

“I’m kidding! Kidding! I’m capable of making jokes, Alex!” Kat says, throwing her hands up in surrender. Her eyes drop to Lily, a playful smile on her lips. “But we’re gonna have fun. Don’t worry.”

And with that, they’re off. Alex lingers by the door for a bit, waving to Lily until she’s out of sight. Once she is, he sighs, hanging his head low before turning to you. This is the first time his smile makes your heart sink.

“Sorry you can’t be with them tonight.” You say.

Alex shrugs, “Eh. I’ll see her later in the week. We got a…co-parenting thing goin’ on. But let’s not drift away from what really matters.”

You look around the room, your face getting warmer. “And that is?”

“You told my daughter I’d give her five dollars. She gonna act like she won Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. You know that, right?”

Relieved, you chuckle. “Be glad I didn’t say 100.”

—

You don’t recall when it got so hot. The fireplace is roaring as usual, and you haven’t complained. Not once. Right now, you need a fire department to put you out. Alex is only getting closer—not that you mind—but he isn’t making it easy to focus. His pinky wiggles next to your palm, wanting nothing more than to intertwine with yours.

Each time he "adjusts" his position on the floor beside you, the scent of his aftershave feels only inches away. If one of you sneezes, it could cause a forehead kiss. Your first kiss with Alex won't be an accident, though. You can feel it.

“So,” Alex begins, “And I mean this in the kindest way possible, I believe you owe me, Little Miss.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Be specific, Tooth Fairy.”

He changes his position again, sitting crisscross in front of you. “The garden. I told you everything. Now, I think you should return the favour.”

You suck in a breath, but it feels more laboured than usual. Fuck. Do you have to?

“I-I don’t know where to start.” You say, twiddling your thumbs.

Alex takes your hand, laying it flat against his. With his other hand, he gently brushes your knuckles. “That’s alright. I have a plan. For each fact you tell me, I’ll give you a kiss. With your permission, of course.”

He likes a stipulation. Even in your sweaty, nervous state, you can’t refuse. “You like making me work for it, huh? Okay. Permission granted.”

“Alright,” Alex says, kissing your knuckles. “That’s one kiss. Talk to me.”

A smile tugs at your lips, but a dry, hard lump lodges in your throat. “From certain angles, I think you look like Al Pacino. Not a bad thing! Obviously!” Those final five words slip out before your brain can stop them. Jesus. An icebreaker? Now? You’ll be dead of embarrassment before he gets to kiss you.

“So I’ve been told,” He says with a smile. Alex opens your palm, pressing a kiss to it. “Keep going.”

You clear your throat, shuffling uncomfortably on the rug. “Um...okay. I have a degree in marketing, and I work in advertising.” You hesitate, then add, “So, I think your business cards suck.”

Alex chuckles, rolling up the sleeve of your sweater to kiss your wrist. Every bone in his body is disgustingly romantic, isn’t it? “Perhaps you can help me fix them. Now, give me something good.”

Good? Your heart is racing like a wild stallion, so fast and hard that you forget there’s a fire crackling behind you. Is vulnerable...good? Honesty? Does he really want that? You can’t pull the plug. You’ve buried yourself too deep. Or, that’s what the anxiety is telling you.

You recall your surroundings as Alex leans in and kisses your jaw. The firelight casts flickering shadows along the walls and over his handsome face. He’s getting closer, his breath warm against your skin. And God, are his lips soft.

“I’m listening.” He whispers. Alex can see your goosebumps.

You look down to still see Alex’s hand in yours. You squeeze it, bile stinging your throat. “I’m here because my car broke down. I missed a meeting and everything, but now...I literally don’t know what to do.”

Alex doesn’t kiss you, but allows you to continue.

“It’s weird. I feel weird. My job treats me like shit, but I keep going. My car treats me like shit, but I keep going. I put myself in these places where I don’t feel welcomed, and I keep staying. I’m still paying all my bills from school, and I’m waiting for everything to just...stop. But it won’t. And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared, Alex. I don’t know what to do.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you try your damnedest, but they’re streaming down your cheeks. Your chest feels tight, making every breath shallow and strained, as if your lungs are being squeezed. Alex only holds your hand, and truthfully, it’s all you need. You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, and you can feel the stability you’ve longed for.

“I,” you start. “I don’t want to be alone, Alex.”

Alex kisses your head before resting his chin on your scalp. “It’s a good thing you aren’t, right?”

—

“Your checkout time is in three hours.”

That’s not what you want to hear. And waking up in Alex’s arms makes it more of an offence. You aren’t prepared to go, and he isn’t ready to let you leave, either. Like in the garden, it feels deliberate. You’re meant to be with Alex right now.

The curtains billow in the breeze, the sun’s rays filtering through and bathing the room in the morning light. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your back, and you think this is his way of saying he wants more time.

“I haven’t checked my phone since I’ve been here,” you say, but you don’t sound as worried as you should. “My boss is gonna kill me.”

“You’re still on about that job?” Alex asks, sitting up. “From what you’ve told me, they don’t seem to care too much.”

Your arms close around his middle, and you bury your face in his chest. “If you’re asking if I’m still on about having my rent and bills paid, then yes. I’ll keep yapping.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You can yap until I’m deaf in both ears. I won’t get tired,” he pauses, kissing your head. “But the subject of your yapping isn’t making you happy.”

You gently and repeatedly bump your forehead against his chest, letting out a groan. Alex isn’t wrong, but he shouldn’t say it.

Alex is a great guy. He has a cute kid, a full head of hair, emotionally aware and candid. He’s the kind of person you write poetry about or have posters of plastered on your wall. The inn is a warm, big bear hug with all the coffee and fireside chats you could want. It’s fairytale perfect—a fantasy. Why does it feel real? If everything is so right, how can it be real? Maybe you’ve been deprived of the “good” for too long that you only want to revel in it. And why is that a bad thing?

“What should I do?” You whine, dragging the “o”.

Alex shuffles to sit upright, and you move with him, settling in his lap. “Do you want my selfish little boy answer, or my adult answer?”

“Give me the fun one first.”

He laughs, a sound like warm honey, releasing a sigh. “I’ll give you both. Go home and figure your shit out. I’ll help you find your car and everything. I will always be here when you want to come back. That’s the adult answer.” You nod. “Or, you can stay with me and—”

You cut him off with a kiss. The warmth of his lips, the lingering flavour of coffee still dancing on his tongue, the strength of his hands pulling you near—it all makes the moment seem so...vivid. You aren’t wrong for wanting a fairytale ending in your fairytale place. Besides, Alex looks good in rose tint.

Pulling back, your breath ragged, you meet Alex’s gaze - a mixture of surprise and something else that sends a jolt of heat through your body. “I’m glad we had this talk,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “Very productive.”

Your hands glide from his stomach onto his shoulders, pulling him into another kiss. “We’re done talking.”

For the next three hours, you don’t want to think. Unless it’s about Alex. And his hands going up the t-shirt he lent you for the night. They’re still calloused and eager to please. You moan as he fondles and squeezes your breasts with a gentleness you wouldn’t expect from his rough palms.

Alex’s fingers twist and pinch your nipples in response, and you grind into his lap. His pulse thumps against your tongue, a wild, relentless beat that races beyond your own. It’s a heady mix. The heat of his skin, the taste of him—it leaves you breathless.

He breaks the kiss to remove your shirt, leaning forward until you’re pinned against the bed. “Listen,” he stops to kiss you again. “I want to,” another kiss, “Really, I do. I want you. Terribly. But on my meds, I can’t…Jesus, this is embarrassing.”

Your fingers trace the contours of his face, his blush deepening, and he eventually nuzzles into your neck, his beard tickling your skin. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t be embarrassed.”

To apologise, he plants lingering kisses on your neck, his fingertips ghosting the lace of your panties. “We’ve got next time, yeah? And I promise, when it happens, I am going to fuck you senseless.”

Your toes curl up against the sheets as your underwear dampens. He shouldn’t say things like that when he can’t fuck you senseless. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling just to tease. “Remember, you promised.”

The flimsy lace finally slides down your hips. Your skin prickles with goosebumps, in part of the cold air and the nakedness you feel—physical and in a deeper sense. Alex kneels over you and takes you in, like a painting he already knows the meaning of. His fingers glide along your folds, and you suck in a sharp breath, shuddering.

“I think,” He begins as he sinks a finger inside you. “I think you’re crazy beautiful.”

For a moment, it’s uncomfortable. You haven’t had too many guys before Alex, and you’ve grown accustomed to your own fingers. His fingers are longer and wider than yours, and they pump in and out of you with a feeling your lust clouded head can’t place. You moan as the pace quickens, spreading your legs further.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you get this wet for other guys?” No, you don’t. It almost feels unnatural. You shake your head. “I must be lucky. So fuckin’ lucky. You want more?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

He adds another finger, and you feel full already. Fuck. It’s too good. What is it again? Is it lightning? Electricity? An inferno swallowing you whole? Your hips are moving on their own, and your breathing is out of sync. Alex’s thumb brushes against your clit, and you moan, trying to curb the warmth in your stomach.

“Is this how you want me to fuck you?” He cups your face with his freehand. “Tell me. How do you want me?”

Hard. Slow and steady. You don’t know anymore. It’s a lot. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been. The quilt is damp with your sweat, and your back is arching off the mattress. Your nerves are on fire, and it’s all unfamiliar to you. You’d never reach these heights before, not with anyone or yourself.

It can't happen. Not yet. It's too soon.

All you want is for Alex to keep going. You want to tell him what you want. But before you find the words, clouds of white obscure your vision. Another moan escapes your lips as you feel your walls closing around his fingers. Tight. Fluttering. And the feeling is otherworldly.

As your body collapses onto the bed, the heat of tears begins to well in the corners of your eyes. Instinctively, your hands fly to your face, hiding it in pure embarrassment. May lightning strike you down swiftly and mercilessly. You weren’t supposed to do that.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

There’s a hint of a snicker in Alex’s voice. Ugh. Yuck. You burrow your head deep into one of his pillows. They smell like him. Like allspice.

“I…finished. Quick.”

His arms come around you in a comforting, snuggly, knit sweater squeeze. It makes it hard to be mad at his laughter, which is a lot more obvious with your bodies glued together.

Damn him and that sweet, honeyed laughter.

“So? Who cares?” He kisses your temple, rubbing your forearms reassuringly. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then don’t worry about it. I promised you a next time. Don’t forget.” As he rolls out of bed, you miss him already. “I’ll run you a bath or a shower. Anything you want.”

You curl into a fetal position. “Just leave me here to die, please.”

His voice grows distant as he enters the en-suite bathroom. You miss him even more. “As long as I am here, you will not die. I have nowhere to hide your body, anyway.”

You smile into the pillow. It’s stupid. You want to flail your legs around like a giddy teenager. So stupid.

The sound of the shower starting gives you a moment to gather your composure. That, and to be a little nosy. Pulling your shirt on, you leisurely stroll around Alex's room, hoping to find a shiny object or a book of curses. Whatever. Something to keep you from missing him while he's in the shower.

His desk catches your eye. It even has a swivel chair. Nice.

On the overhead shelf, there’s a line of books. Mainly literature, with poetry sprinkled in. They seem like interesting reads, but your knowledge doesn’t extend much beyond The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Parenting for Dummies. In the free space beside the books, a nearly completed Lego Batmobile sits. You smile, running a finger over the tiny bricks.

Nerd.

On the desk, there’s an open notepad. He’s titled a page as “Anyways”, with several lines crossed out—an obvious work in progress. One line remains: Baby, you go hard in the paint!

A framed photo catches your attention. It's Lily and Kat. Lily's in her pink soccer uniform, perched on Kat's shoulders. They look happy—maybe she'd just won a game. You wonder which one of them Alex misses the most.

As you continue to explore, a stack of papers half-hidden under a book catches your eye. Curiosity piqued, you pull them out, and your heart sinks. The heading reads: Introduction to Uncontested Divorce Instructions. What You Need to Know Before Starting Your Divorce Action.

[familyvideostevie]

HI! Can you do a grumpy!reader x sunshine!sirius black one shot😫

absolutely. i am a grumpy!reader stan, let me tell you, because i am her. okay, here we have kind of grumpy!reader and sunshine!sirius going on their first date | 1.1k <3

You're not nervous. You're not.

It's not like it's a blind date, anyway. You know Sirius Black. Kinda. Lily's the one who set you up, coordinated it all and assured you he's keen to go on a date. You're pretty sure you've spoken to him a few times at parties, been at the pub at the same time. You know what he looks like, at least. Hair that never gets brushed, rings in his ears and nose, a smile that seems mischievous and genuinely carefree at the same time.

He's not as measured as Remus, a bit less puppy dog than James. If you'd been asked in a silly gossipy way which of the trio you'd pick, it would be him.

You just don't want to hope too hard.

Though it's taken a while, you are perfectly aware of and secure in your value and personality. You are "a fucking catch," as Marlene often says, and even if she and your other friends didn't assure you of it, you'd think so. You're prickly, sure. You're quiet in most situations, preferring to observe and go home when you've had enough. You don't laugh much, don't tell jokes. You stand at the edge of the group because that's where you prefer to be.

It's okay that you're not everyone's cup of tea. People have told you before that you should talk more, you should be more present, you should do more things. You're fine as you are and anyone who thinks otherwise isn't worth your time.

So the fact that Sirius is a few minutes late doesn't bother you that much. The bar isn't super crowded and you're sat a pretty comfortable stool snacking on the olives the bartender put out when you arrived. If he doesn't show you'll just get a drink and read the book in your bag and go home and call Lily and you know she'll lay into him.

But just as you consider it, there's a warm hand on your shoulder and you turn to find the man in question grinning at you sheepishly. His name rolls off your tongue.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "Had to take the bus and obviously it wasn't on time. Can I hug you hello?"

You appreciate him asking. Something about you tends to put people off of touch, though you don't usually mind it. "Hi, Sirius," you say, standing to give him a squeeze. He's warm and smells like tobacco and mint, like he popped one on his way over.

"Have you been here before?" He peels off his leather jacket and sits next to you, signaling for the bartender. "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, and yes," you say. "The Sex on the Beach is quite good."

His eyebrows rise to his hairline and he grins. You keep your face neutral. "Not what I would have picked for you," he muses. "But I trust you." He asks the bartender for two.

"What would you have picked for me?" You pop an olive into your mouth.

Sirius thinks on it. "Stout pint," he says. "Or whiskey." His gaze very quickly travels the length of you as much as he can, sitting so close. "You look lovely, by the way."

That almost gets you to smile. "You do, too," you say instead. "Is that a new earring?" You reach for it without thinking but he doesn't flinch away. A gold star dangles from his right ear instead of the hoop you remember him having last time you saw him.

His grin gets impossibly bigger. How is that he can smile every second of every day? "So glad you noticed, love," he says. "It sure is. It's got a story, too. Something you might not know about me is --"

He talks and talks and talks. Your drinks come and he tells you the story and then another one and you find that you don't mind listening. It feels like Sirius is talking to you, not at you, even though it's clear he could charm a brick wall. He doesn't seem to mind that you only nod or make affirmative noises rather than chime in or laugh, answering his questions for you in just a few words. He just seems to want your attention, which he certainly has.

"And then James genuinely looked at me and said I thought they were the same thing."

The story is funny, sure, but Sirius's own laughter at his joke makes you smile. You feel it happen, feel the corners of your mouth lift and a chuckle make its way out of you.

"You have a pretty smile," Sirius says. He looks about two seconds away from poking it to see if it's real.

"Are you telling me to smile more?" you ask.

That seems to fluster him. You don't think you've seen him flustered before. He runs a hand through his unruly curls, ties them up into a half-up half-down bun thing with the hairband on his wrist. You wonder if his hair is soft.

"I, no," he stumbles. Who knew Sirius Black could stumble over his words? "I wouldn't. That's not something you say to a girl --"

You put a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, the ink that covers it smoother than you expected under your fingers. "I'm teasing, Sirius," you say.

His grin returns twice as strong. How can he flip between emotions so quickly? "You are? Oh, thank fuck."

His profanity makes your lips tug up. You take a sip of your drink and knock your knee with his.

"Hang on," he says. "If you're teasing me that means you must like me."

"What do you mean?" You genuinely want to know.

"Well," he says. "We don't really know each other, even though I've been trying to work up speaking to you at every one of Lily's parties this year, which is why she agreed to set us up, by the way, so I'd stop bothering her about it."

You want to interrupt because, what? but he keeps talking. His gaze is steady, eyes fixed on yours.

"But I get the impression that you don't let just anyone see how many sides you have."

Something in your chest is tight and warm. Is that your heart?

"Sides?" you mutter. "A cube, am I?"

He laughs. Loudly and genuinely. You don't fight the smile this time. Sirius puts his hand on your knee and leans in a little. "I'm not great with words, love," he says. "That's Remus."

"You're plenty great," you say bluntly. "And I guess you're right."

"Hmm?" He blinks a few times and you realize how long his lashes are, his eyeliner making his irises look impossibly big.

"I must like you."

Not a bad first date after all.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (40)

***

Vander spends the day thinking about it, but he doesn't have any idea how topsiders came up with surnames. He's never needed one. He's mostly joking when he leans over in the mess hall that night and asks, "Silco, what about Zaun?"

Silco frowns in confusion, leaning into Vander like he must have misheard over the drunken chatter around them. "Did you say Zaun?"

Vander nods. He could raise his voice but he'd rather lean in close to Silco, foreheads brushing as they talk. "As a surname."

"It's as good as any," Silco allows, turning as Felicia returns with drinks for everyone else and juice for Silco. (The whiskey is too expensive to drink every night, and he still hates ale.)

The conversation turns to everyone's plans for tomorrow, since it's the last day of the month. Connol wants to go to riverside, to eat fresh squid and watch the lights of Piltover. Benzo has plans with Widgit, A girl who mines on level two. Felicia shrugs and says she's planning to go to Babette's.

"Babette's?" Connol squawks, like they haven't all been tempted there once or twice.

"I want a new dress. A couple of the girls are taking orders, sewing it between customers," Felicia says. "I'm going to get measured. Find out how much it will cost."

There's a speculative gleam in Silco's eyes. In another world, Vander might suggest buying something – a new shirt, a fancy jacket – but all the money they have is promised to someone.

"I might go over the bridge," Vander says, since Silco's planning to go to the council record office anyway. "Look around Piltover. See what I think."

The last day of the month is known for being lax at the bridge. The enforcers know they have coins in their pockets, so miners are allowed into the city to spend their money. They prefer the miners to stay at the shops by the docks, out of the city proper so that's where Vander says he's going when they stop and ask him where he's going and what he's buying. They laugh at the handful of bronze he's carrying but they don't rough him up or send him back to the undercity.

A few minutes later, Silco walks across the bridge dressed in a fine jacket and vest, with a shirt and tie. He has a leather satchel over one arm, a suggestion from Babette. The enforcers nod at him but don't ask any questions.

Vander waits for him and they walk together to the town square. Silco doesn't want Vander to be seen by the council staff but he's also carrying nearly all of their coin. It made sense for them to both come.

Silco keeps his head up and leads them through the main streets, stepping neatly around other topsiders. He's right that the people up here eye Vander's mining jacket and give him space. One mother pulls her child to the other side of her as Vander walks by.

They stop at a tall building of pale sandstone, stretching up into the midday sunshine. "Stay here," Silco tells him and then steps inside with the satchel.

He's back after a few short minutes. "It has to all be in gold coin for them to accept payment," Silco says, nervousness showing in the tightness around his eyes, the sharp edge of his frown.

More than half of their funds are in bronze. "So what do we do?"

"Follow me," Silco says and starts walking. They walk down wide tree-lined streets, hot sunlight broken by patches of dappled shade. The sky is so blue up here, reaching out around them. It's so much brighter than riverside, without the smog rolling across from the Piltover side of the river.

Silco stops at a wide, dark building. At the top of a wide flight of steps, there are enforcers standing outside the doorway.

"What is this?" Vander asks, resisting the urge to size up the enforcers. He doesn't want their attention.

"A bank," Silco says but the word doesn't mean anything to Vander. "Apparently, they will exchange our coins for gold here."

"For a fee?" They don't have much more than the land fees with them. It will take hours if they have to go back to the mines for more funds. More importantly, it might leave them short later this month.

Silco shrugs. "We'll find out."

Silco plasters a smile on his face as he turns, but his knuckles are tight on the strap of his satchel. It's a form of bravery, stepping into the unknown and hoping, but it's not going to help if Vander's standing out, glaring up at the door.

Vander crosses the road and walks up a few buildings. He can still see the doorway and the enforcers, standing bored with their weapons at their sides. If he turns around, he can watch their reflection in the shopfront glass. It has Renalds written on the glass in shiny gold letters but there's nothing on display in the window.

A Piltie enters, another two come out but they ignore the enforcers and the enforcers ignore them. Vander passes the time counting the number of Pilties going in, waiting to see how long it takes one of them to come back out again. He doesn't recognise any of them coming out but most of them kind of look the same: big dresses with frills, jackets with bright edging, lots of pale colours that would show soot and dirt too easily.

Finally, a familiar face steps out. Solco might be dressed like one of them, deep blue jacket and pale tan pants, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck with light blue ribbon, but he doesn't walk like them, mindlessly sure of where they're going. Silco steps out and scans the street, taking a moment before he steps down, quick sideways glances to watch the enforcers as he goes.

Vander turns and waves to catch Silco's attention. Gets to see the recognition and relief on Silco's face.

"All good?" Vander asks.

Silco nods and starts leading them back to the council office. "It was like a topsider version of cash box day. People handing over coins or lining up to withdraw them."

"Huh. Do you think they live on credit too?" Vander asks and Silco shrugs.

They walk past shopfronts filled with clothes and boots, bags and metal trinkets. There's a shop just for hats and another that sells nothing but tiny glass ornaments, animals with little coloured ears and noses, hooves and horns. Vander recognises a horse, a quid and a wild tuna, but the rest are things he's never personally seen.

"We can look on the way back," Silco says when Vander's steps start to slow.

Vander shakes his head and keeps walking. What's he going to do with tiny glass things? He'd only break them or lose them, and they probably cost more than a week's pay.

Silco takes longer in the council office. There aren't any enforcers guarding the entrance so Vander walks around the building, finding a small alley to hide from the bright sunshine. It's narrow and dark, with large metal garbage bins stacked at the far end. There are no topsiders here, no daintily concerned looks aimed at Vander; it feels like the first time he's been able to breathe since they crossed the river.

Vander sits down on the concrete, brick against his back. If he turns his head he can watch the trees on the other side of the street, the narrow, dark green leaves and the small pink flowers moving in the breeze. As he watches, a small bird lands on a branch. It's tiny, a third of the size of a seagull, a little brown and red thing that's hard to spot when it stops moving. It jumps along the branch and then stops, tilting its head.

Vander wonders what that's like: living somewhere with trees and flowers. Growing up with singing birds instead of the occasional rat. He watches the little bird and watches Pilties walk past it, not even looking up.

***

[lucygxybaird]

we were just kids when we fell in love...

billy and reader meet when he first becomes friends with jesse, and at first -- despite the matching sheafs of wheat-gold hair, the same blue eyes, despite the way that both of them smile like they know a secret about you -- he doesn't realize that reader is jesse's little sister. it's like someone took the clay jesse is molded from and turned it inside out, before sculpting an angel out of it. she is sweet and gentle, a nurse, because she wants to heal others, not hurt them.

we are still kids, but we're so in love, fighting against all odds; i know we'll be alright this time...

after he escaped from jail, he figured he would never see either jesse or his sister ever again. the first hurt; the second made him feel as if someone had ripped the north star from the sky, leaving him lost. he'd never told her how he felt, even though the words had risen to his lips countless times. to tell her the truth -- it felt blasphemous, somehow, like he was trailing muck through a church. she deserved better than him.

when life led him back to jesse evans, he asked about her; jesse told him that she was living in lincoln now, and she wanted to become a doctor. jesse laughed when he said it, but billy didn't. he didn't think it was all that funny.

it wasn't until he found himself in john tunstall's employ that he saw her again. he'd always meant to look her up when he was still working with murphy, but the more he learned of his new employer, the more he saw jesse shedding the man he knew like a chrysalis and becoming someone altogether dirtier, bloodier, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

more than ever, he felt like he didn't deserve her.

but then -- he actually bumped into her, his shoulder physically knocking against hers, as he was coming through the front door and she was stepping out of it. he stepped back, ready to apologize, and she stuttered in her stride, her lips parting to do the same.

they froze. they stared at each other. she smiled first, and then he did.

when she laughed with all the delight of a child waking up to a snowy christmas morning, when she threw her arms around his neck in a hug, billy didn't think twice. he hugged her so tight that her feet lifted off the floor.

she worked for tunstall, too, it turned out. she treated his employees, both the riders like billy and the people who worked in tunstall's store, in his bank. she said she never liked to accept payment from them; tunstall paid her enough, and many of them couldn't really afford too spare the cash. it didn't surprise him to hear her say that.

once, he was sitting in tunstall's study, the two of them sipping whiskey. tunstall slid a smile toward him from across the room and asked when exactly billy was going to do something about the fact that he was in love -- mad for, was the phrase tunstall used -- about dr. evans.

billy felt like a schoolboy being called out in front of the class. he asked how tunstall knew, and john just chuckled.

"billy, my boy -- there are few things in this world as marvelously ostentatious as young love." tunstall smiled again. "and there are few things as rare. don't let this moment pass you by."

baby, i'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. barefoot on the grass, while listening our favorite song. i have faith in what i see, now i know i have met an angel in person...

billy sent a message to her lodgings, asking her to meet him that night. he met her on the front lawn, with light from an upper-story window -- tunstall's study, as it so happened -- spilling onto the grass. somehow, it seemed that she knew why he'd asked her to come. she just looked at him and waited.

her hair tumbled around her shoulders, a mass of sunshine in the shadows of night, and waited beyond the light from the window. she hardly needed the borrowed candlelight. she glowed in the silvery moonlight as if her skin drank it in.

...and she looks perfect...

billy took one step toward her, and then another, another, until she was close enough to touch. so he did, reaching up to draw his fingertips lightly over her cheek.

...he looks perfect...

she smiled at him. he took her in his arms and finally, finally, for the first time -- despite wanting to so many times that they would have, if he'd let himself deserve what he wanted, kissed so many times by now that each would match a star in the sky -- pressed his lips to hers.

...you look perfect tonight.

[deans-queen]

𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 💜

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Beau is thinking about the last kiss he has with his ex (Reader)

Warnings: angst, alcohol use, emotional themes, break-ups.

Pre-AN: this fills the “Last Kiss by Taylor Swift” square for @jacklesversebingo purple text = song lyrics

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The moon was heavy tonight, hanging low in the Montana sky. I was out on the porch, boots propped up on the railing, a bottle of whiskey in my hand. The air was cool, biting at the edge of my skin, but it wasn’t the cold keeping me awake—it was her. It was always her.

Y/N.

It had been six months since she left, six months since the last time I held her, kissed her, and watched her walk away from me. But that kiss—our last kiss—still haunted me. It wasn’t just a memory; it was a ghost that lingered in the quiet moments of the night, in the spaces between breaths.

I do remember the swing of your step, the life of the party

You’re showing off again…

I could see her in my mind so clearly, her laugh lighting up the room like a damn firework. She always had this way of making me feel like the most important man in the world, even when I wasn’t sure I deserved it. That night, she wore a sundress that flowed with the breeze, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of gold. I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time I’d ever see her like that—free, full of life, and mine.

I do remember the look on your face, lit through the darkness at 1:58…

It was late, almost two in the morning, when she told me she had to go. Her eyes brimmed with something I didn’t understand then—regret, sadness, maybe even love. She said it was for the best, but how the hell could losing her be good for me? I didn’t fight her, though. I didn’t beg her to stay. Maybe I should’ve.

She leaned in, her lips soft and trembling against mine. That kiss—it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, like she was memorizing me, taking one last piece of me before she walked out of my life.

I never thought we’d have a last kiss

Never thought we’d end like this….

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, trying to drown the ache, but the memory of that kiss lingered, as sharp and vivid as it had been that night. The way she smelled like lavender and sunshine. The way her hand trembled when she pulled away. The way her voice cracked when she whispered, “Goodbye, Beau.”

So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep…

I still had her picture tucked away in my wallet. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out, even though it felt like a damn knife in my chest every time I saw it. Sometimes I’d pull it out late at night, after a few too many drinks, and stare at her smile until my vision blurred.

She was out there somewhere, living her life without me. I hoped she was happy. Hell, I wanted her to be happy. But selfishly, I wanted to be the one making her happy.

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.

The worst part was knowing I was probably just a memory to her now, like she was for me. I wondered if she ever thought about that night—about me. Did she ever replay our last kiss the way I did? Did it haunt her too, or had she moved on?

I tipped the whiskey bottle back, letting the burn settle in my throat. But no amount of liquor could numb the ache. Y/N was a part of me, whether I liked it or not, and I didn’t know how to let her go.

I never thought we’d have a last kiss… never imagined we’d end like this.

The night stretched on, quiet and empty, the way my heart felt without her. I closed my eyes, and there she was again, her lips on mine, her voice breaking as she said goodbye.

It was a memory I couldn’t outrun, a ghost I couldn’t shake. And maybe that was my punishment—to live with the ache of her, the memory of our last kiss, and the knowing that I’d never feel her lips on mine again.

I stayed out on the porch until the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, chasing away the darkness. But even as the light returned, she didn’t fade. She never did.

She was my last kiss, and damn it, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to kiss anyone else without tasting the ghost of her on my lips.

Your name, forever the name on my lips…

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞💜

Hope you enjoyed this story! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback! This one was sad to write — I’m sorry for putting out the tear jerkers lately but I guess this is my challenge as a writer. Honestly Taylor Swift inspired stories are always the best 😌

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Want to read more? Check out my other stories!

Master list 📝

Bingo list 💚

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@kr804573 / @deanscherrypie420 / @reignsboy19 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @riah1606 / @deanwinchestersgirl8734 / @thoughtfullyfurryangel / @10ava01 / @jackles010378 / @winchesterwild78 / @ladysparkles78 / @whimsyfinny / @deansimpalababy / @suckitands33 / @spnaquakindgom / @malindacath

If you would like to be added on my Taglist for stories please send me a message or comment on this post

[easterbonnet]

Change The Subject

f!reader x boyfriend!remus lupin

{{a cosy late night catchup forces uncomfortable feelings and faces from the past}}

cw: smoking, drinking (think that's all)

. . .

The crackle of the fire and the flicker of the candles drowned the harrowing lullaby produced by the wind outside, rattling the old, wooden door by it's painted, iron hinges. Cool breezes skated from under the door, across the rusty tiled floor, warming when it hit that of the fireplace. Cosy, orange beams flashed over the room, over their sleepy faces, over the lopsided, wooden dinner table, over the roughly plastered walls painted an aged shade of cream, and over the small, ornate photo frames decorating the chest of drawers.

Remus sat comfortably in a tatty, fraying armchair by the wonky bookshelf in the corner of the room, his choice of clothing most relaxed - a pair of deep brown trousers, a frumpy slate grey cardigan, and his usual shoes. Settled on his knee was y/n, nestling into the crook of his neck, whilst her arms were folded into her chest like an otter on it's back. She had her eyes slightly open, her face squashed and distorted as she snuggled up against her lover. Remus lay his hand on her lower back gently, caressing her with his thumb, a touch like a whisper, his other hand occupied a cigarette, bringing it to his mouth as often as the firewhiskey that sat in a glass on the table next to him. Y/n's cup of tea, on same table, was left ignored, almost as cold as the whiskey. Whisps of smoke filled the air, leeching onto their clothes, but their only concern was eachother.

"Mm how was work today?", she asked, tired, looking up despite him not being able to see her face, hidden by his chest.

He took a breath, anchoring his arm, cigarette between his finger tips, "The usual you know, some bright sparks, and the trouble makers of course... though, can't blame them really", he took another inhale.

"Sometimes I forget you were a menace at school", she laughed, adjusting her hands, squeezing them in gaps between her and Remus to keep them warm.

"Mh", is his only response, before sucking a quick breath in, "Right", he said, more loudly this time, putting out his cigarette and downing what was left of his drink in one, slamming it back down on the table, empty.

Seeming more lively, Remus planted his hands around her waist and heaved her up like a cat, with a playful groan. She scowled in protest as he met her face with his, his warm hands smooshing her face on either side.

"Get off, what are you doing?", she complained, aiming to push him away with her hands on his chest.

"Just want to look at your beautiful face", he smirked, the candlelight making his eyes appear like shiny marbles.

"Why are you being weird?", she squinted her eyes in suspicion, her face now only an inch or so from his.

"Maybe the alcohol's finally getting to the poor, old sod", Remus leant his forehead against hers as he spoke.

Her expression softened before she rolled her eyes at his last comment, punching him playfully in the arm. "Whatever old man", she smiled cheekily.

He laughed, faking offense, then hooked his hands under her thighs, tracing the underside of them faintly.

It wasn't long before the cyclic tick of the grandfather clock lulled them to sleep. They dreamt away with the rustling logs on the fire, the forthcoming gushes of wind, and the subconscious adoration and safety they mutualy felt.

As the late hours of the day rolled by, the early hours of the next, were eager to arise, hinting halos of gold from beneath the curtains, dancing along the floor as they swayed. Y/n was the first to awaken, prompted by the stern tap of a beak against the window. She smudged her fingers across her eyelids, willing her awake, as she carefully climbed off the man, assessing his face, questioning if he heard it too. Deciding on no, she tip toed over to the noise, drawing back the wooden shutters blocking the light, revealing tawny feathers and wide sunshine eyes.

Her eyebrows straightened as confusion left her. 'I recognise you from the ministry... but what-' she thought to herself, staring at the bird and pulling the crinkled parchment from it's mouth.

The owl flew away as fast as it had came, she scanned back over the room, double checking Remus was still in slumber. Her hands quickly untied the deep purple ribbon, and unfolded the letter.

Y/n's expression was now a shade more serious, her chilled hands, shaking. She recognised the writing as that of her friend at the ministry, but that wasn't what concerned her...

// Y/n,

He's escaped, he's out. Sirius Black //

She screwed up the letter, holding it to her chest and hiding it in her palms. Her eyes shot over to Remus, dreaming peacefully in his chair, snoring lightly.

"Oh Remus", she whispered to herself, sighing deeply.

[midnightsun-if]

”Its V day and y'all know what that means! Angst! If its okay could you please do the MC is cursed into deep slumber so mated or deep romance ROs tries waking MC up with a true love's kiss but it failed but someone else tried on MC and it worked and how would they feel about not being the true love”?” this but when the mc wakes up they are incredibly angry at the not RO because their body wants them and tries to make us want them but we want the RO. Like “I DONT WANT YOU I WANT THEM I LOVE THEM!!!” And mc hating themselves because of it. How would the ROs react to that?

Koda: He’d be by your side, doing everything in his power to try and get you to understand what’s happening, that nothing could be changed— something that’s made all the more difficult because he barely understands it himself. He just hates seeing you like this, in so much pain because you’re denying yourself of what you truly want. What would clearly be the best for you. “T-This isn’t easy, sunshine, but this is how it’s gotta be, I think.” Koda rubs the back of his neck, looking down at his lap. “It’s not fair, and it’ll hurt for a long time, but it’s how it’s supposed to be. Mama always told me that you don’t go messin’ with the natural order of things.” Whiskey brown eyes look up to meet your own gaze, imploring you to understand. To listen. “I want nothing more than to be yours, and for you to be mine, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be.“

Scarlett: That’d probably make it worse, honestly. It’d absolutely destroy her to see physical proof that your beast wants someone that isn’t her— when all her beast wants, all her beast will ever need, is you. It’d twist the knife so deeply into her heart that it’d become a mere husk of what it once was; the final scar that would never heal. Her anger would only exemplify because it’d also make her realize how hopelessly in love with you she still is. She wouldn’t wish to see you suffer, the love she still has for you making the sight absolutely painful, so she’d make it clear that what was could never be again. “I know you’re fighting, I know that you don’t want this, but you’re only doing yourself more harm. You’re only causing me more harm by spouting such beautiful words that are nothing more than the most ugly of lies.” Pursing her lips, Scarlett takes your hand in hers for, what she knows is, the last time. “We were not meant to be. I was a mere chapter in the book of your life, and I will come to accept that, but you need to accept that this is how it’s meant to be. I’m letting you go, letting you be free.”

Cyrus/Cyra: They’d treat the situation methodically, coldly to some, because they couldn’t bear to let themself open up once more. They don’t even know why they’re torturing themself by continuing to be in your presence, not when your very essence is calling out for someone else. They hope, that with the distance, with the added ice between you both, when there used to be nothing but gentle flames, that you’d begin to understand that nothing could be the same. “You need to stop fighting this. It’s wholly irrational to try and fight the mating bond when it’s been established the way it has.” Their words are hollow, empty of any discerning emotion as they look over what the healers have written down. “You’re only causing yourself more issues in the long run.” They look up then, some gold returning to their crimson gaze. “Only causing me more pain by not letting me go in the same way I’ve had to do so to you.”

Quinn: Their wolf would howl in triumph that their mate is clearly trying to pick the better option, but Quinn would quickly give them a reality check as it’d be clear how much discourse your body would be going through due to the choice. Something that should never be the case when it comes to true mates— it’d be all the proof they needed to truly bring the process of stepping back. Even if their wolf, much tamer now, more subdued, still snarled in the recesses of their mind at the prospect. “Sweetheart,” they murmur, gently taking your hand in theirs. Trying to ignore how right it made them feel— your touch, your scent, the sound of your voice, was home to them. They just had to deal with the fact that they’ve been evicted. “It’s honorable what you’re trying to do. That you’re trying to fight for what we had so hard, but I can’t let you continue on like this. I promised that I’d always protect you, and that means I have to protect you from yourself too. It’s time to stop. For both our sakes.”

Caden: For a brief moment they’d let themself believe that everything was going to be okay— that you’d be able to go back to them, but it’d be only that. A dream. A fantasy borne from a desperate mind. They wouldn’t be able to handle it, wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes as they break the news that this couldn’t go on. They’d be completely retreated into themself because they know if they looked at you, truly looked at you, they’d let themself believe that this could have a happier ending. “I-I sent in my resignation.” They pluck at the end of a knitted scarf, one that you said looked nice on them so long ago. “I think it would be best if I get some space for a while. For the both of us. You need to settle into the new normalcy of your life and I—“ They bite their lip, argent eyes going misty. “I have to deal with the fact that mines been destroyed.”

Sloane: A spark of their former anger would arise due to the situation— about how unfair the situation clearly was to them and to you. But they wouldn’t wish for you to suffer. Wouldn’t wish for you to be anything but happy— even if that happiness could never be with them. It’d take them a bit to truly come to terms with it, meaning to actually come and see you to talk to you, but they’d be firm in their resolve once they do. Even if their heart was cracking open which each moment spent in your presence. “Don’t need to make it a big deal,” they say, flicking their lighter open and close. Wanting nothing more than to smoke, but refraining due to their current location. “You may love me, but that doesn’t mean shit in the long run, does it? Not when you have the person you’re supposed to be bonded to always trying to see you. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a runner up, like an imposter, and I think I deserve to not feel that when being in a relationship.” Hazel eyes raise to meet yours. “I deserve that, right?”

Blake: They’d be stiff the entire time, wouldn’t be able to hold eye contact with you for long, the sense of familiarity between you both would be so strained… Everything and more had shifted and Blake wouldn’t know what to do with that. It’s one thing to lose the love of your life, but to lose your best friend on top of that? It makes everything too real, too painful, and Blake just wants to get away from it all. Meaning, for the first time, they wanted to get away from you. Of what you represented in their loss. “T-“ They clear their throat, ducking their head as they anxiously tug at their pendant. “Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is. It’s a shitty situation no matter how prettily we try to wrap it. We’re both going to need some time.” A frazzled hand runs through ash blonde locks. “Don’t know how long that’ll take, but it needs to happen. For both our sakes.”

Reginald/Regina: For a moment, wherein they let every selfish thought run free, they let themself believe that this means everything will be okay, that you’ll fight the clear pull you feel towards someone else, and that you’ll be theirs again like they’re yours, but then they’d see the turmoil you’re in and that would all vanish. How could they say they love you when they let you be in this pain? How could you ever be happy together when you could be happier with someone else? It’s clear what needed to happen… They just wish they could have worn their rose-colored lenses a bit longer. “I don’t want you to think I hate you because I don’t.” A watery smile is sent your way, blue-green eyes shimmering with suppressed tears. “You’ve meant more to me than I ever thought possible. You opened up a whole new world of possibilities to me and I can never thank you enough for that. Even if our story ends here today, I know that’ll I’ll always look back on this chapter fondly. Even if it may take me a while to do so. I hope you’ll be able to do the same.”

[leiatalon]

Can we get a quick overview of the ros appearances. I feel like i keep missing their descriptions in the game for some reason.

Sure! I'll pull some descriptions out of the text. There are also descriptions in the glossary on the stats menu. I tend to sprinkle bits of physical description throughout, so more is revealed in subtle layers as you read, but I'll drop the intros for each character here…

As I went through to grab these I realized some of the physical intros were pretty thin. I've painted in a few more details in my working file of the game because of your ask, so thanks for that! Will include them in the next update, which should be toward the end of the month.

The Eternal Library Character Descriptions:

COLLIN's broad shoulders tip at an angle as he leans back and looks up at you with green eyes showing bits of gold like sunshine peeking through dense forest. His longish dark hair is tamed tonight, though you've seen it wild and wind-blown many a time. His long legs stretch out, sword resting in its scabbard against the heavy wooden chair.

DORIAN's indigo eyes shimmer with silver as he smiles. Dragon ink tattoos wind around his wrists, with the hint of more beneath his collar. He wears his dark hair long, but you catch a glimpse of ears that show the subtle points of someone with Fae blood as he tips his head in greeting.

SEVITAS is a bit shorter and a great deal wider than Marienna, with eyes the color of dark whiskey and a face that boasts several scars: one across his left eyebrow, one on the same cheek, and another on his chin, showing gray in his otherwise dark beard. His biceps bulge beneath his black shirt as he curls his hands into fists, then straightens his thick fingers in what seems to be a habitual motion. So many weapons hang off his frame you're hard pressed to count them all, but the whip clipped to his belt is impossible to miss.

ANGELINA has sky-blue eyes. Her golden hair is pinned with jewels and she's the picture of elegance and beauty in her pale-pink gown.

MARIENNA is tall and lean with sharp eyes, cropped black hair, and smooth golden-brown skin. She carries short swords and a collection of knives.

GEMMA is petite and fiery. She has bright eyes: one green, one gray. Her sandy-brown hair is swept up in a bun, but a few strands escape to frame her heart-shaped face.

Yes, Sevitas has a longer description than the rest. He needs it. Dude has SCARS. 🤣 Again, there's more peppered throughout the text, but I appreciate the reminder to make sure each character gets introduced with a decent physical description. Sometimes I see them in my head and forget to paint in all the details while I'm writing.

Thanks for the ask! 👑

[lpmurphy]

Of the Care and Keeping of Spartans Master List

Spring in Tchakova Park Full work on AO3 Spotify Playlist

Pairings: John-117/OC Status: Completed Summary:

Green was the color of the grass where he used to walk in Tchakova Park.

In which John meets a stranger in the park, Violet learns of the care and keeping of Spartans, and Cortana offers dating advice.

Chapter One: Lights on the Water

Chapter Two: The Jungle

Chapter Three: Goose

Chapter Four: The Rock

Chapter Five: Picture Frames

Chapter Six: Gold Visor, Hazel Eyes

Chapter Seven: First Aid

Chapter Eight: Headboards (NSFW)

Chapter Nine: Family Dynamics

Chapter Ten: Anthuriums

Chapter Eleven: Conversations

Chapter Twelve: Pillow Talk (NSFW)

Chapter Thirteen: Meet the Parents

Chapter Fourteen: Eavesdropping

Chapter Fifteen: Confessions

Chapter Sixteen: Arrivals

Chapter Seventeen: Downtown

Chapter Eighteen: Flashes and Blinks

Chapter Nineteen: Bathroom Conversations

Chapter Twenty: All Too Well

Chapter Twenty-One: Headboards Volume 2 (NSFW)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Girlhood

Chapter Twenty-Three: Fishies

Chapter Twenty-Four: Night Swim

Chapter Twenty-Five: Gúta (NSFW)

Chapter Twenty-Six: Carvings

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Persephone

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sunshine

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Scarf

Chapter Thirty: Cultivation

Chapter Thirty-One: Incursion

Chapter Thirty-Two: Ignorant Innocence

Chapter Thirty-Three: Home

Chapter Thirty-Four: Epilogue- Spring in the Highland Mountains

Bonus Chapter: Stay (NSFW)

Something Borrowed: A Sequel AO3 Spotify Playlist

Pairings: John-117/OC, Background Riz/Vannak Status: Completed 8/6/24 Summary

Springtime on Reach had always been Violet's favorite season. She had always adored the mild temperatures, the flowers and greenery in constant bloom and the beauty it brought to Tchakova Park. Meeting John beside the pond the year before had only given her another reason to love the spring. But, on a May evening beside a lake in the Highland Mountains, Violet found yet another reason to love springtime.

In which the 117s tie the knot, Cortana becomes an unlicensed therapist, Kai and Vannak organize a bachelorette party, and Riz plans a wedding.

Chapter One: The Desert

Chapter Two: Sisters

Chapter Three: The View From Tchakova Park

Chapter Four: Cinnamon Whiskey (NSFW)

Chapter Five: Housekeeping

Chapter Six: Tests

Chapter Seven: Cleansing

Chapter Eight: Discoveries

Chapter Nine: Orange Juice

Chapter Ten: Mer

Chapter Eleven: Something in the Orange

Chapter Twelve: Best Friends

Chapter Thirteen: Fog

Chapter Fourteen: Q&A

Chapter Fifteen: Group Message

Chapter Sixteen: Nightmares

Chapter Seventeen: Last Minute (NSFW)

Chapter Eighteen: Threads

Chapter Nineteen: Lamby

Chapter Twenty: Balloons and Streamers

Chapter Twenty One: Marco Polo

Chapter Twenty Two: Bachelorette Part 1

Chapter Twenty Three: Bachelorette Part 2

Chapter Twenty Four: The Morning After

Chapter Twenty Five: Bubbe Fran

Chapter Twenty Six: Becoming

Chapter Twenty Seven: Promises

Chapter Twenty Eight: Empty Chair

Chapter Twenty Nine: 117

Chapter Thirty: Epilogue- Someday Came Two Years Later

The View Between Villages Read on AO3

Status: In Progress (2/4)

Summary:

'This wasn’t home. It felt like someone else belonged here, and perhaps someone else did. He stopped being the boy who did the moment he called on that coin. Childhood came spinning to an end as soon as it came up heads.'

In which Violet receives orders to Eridanus II, and John brings his wife home.

Part One: Cold

Part Two: Ghosts

All Better Read on AO3

Status: Complete

Summary: Violet always left the lamp on in the living room.

Of Mothers and Bedtime Stories Read on AO3

Status: Complete Summary:

“Daddy?” Hailey called. “Yeah, babygirl?” “What’s your mommy’s name?” “Catherine.”

A line of questioning from a very curious five year old forces Violet to consider her feelings towards the woman that created her husband, and what she means to him.

[screebyy]

DestinyTober days 6-10 "Awakening"

There’s far less fanfare to it than cheating death deserves - it’s just a jolt, and a small gasp, and then he’s awake, like coming out of a bad dream. He feels soft grass beneath his fingertips, feels a warm breeze on his skin. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and blinks - it’s bright, far brighter than he can remember anything ever being. He feels the warmth on his skin - sunlight.

“Welcome back.”

He sits up, and his breath catches for reasons he can’t understand. The man sitting in front of him cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow arches up.

“Do you remember me?”

Does he? He furrows his brow, trying to decide if he remembers anything at all. A flicker of worry passes through the man’s eyes.

It comes back to him in an instant. He remembers children’s games and endless laughter. He remembers stealing whiskey from his mother’s liquor cabinet, remembers taking turns sipping from the bottle while they watched the stars together. He remembers a crooked smile, teeth stained pink with blood, beaming back at him from a makeshift fighting ring on the Yang Liwei. He remembers a warmth, in the pit of his stomach, remembers how it spread and burned hotter and hotter until he couldn't contain it anymore, like a wildfire.

“I do,” he answers, his throat is dry and scratchy from disuse. The man smiles in relief, and hands him a canteen of water. He takes a long drink, and takes stock of what he can't remember. “But I don’t know your name.”

“Uldren,” he says, and the sound is crystal clear in his mind. Of course he’s Uldren, he always has been. Uldren stares for a moment longer, then asks. “What’s yours, now?”

“Jolyon,” he says, without thinking, without even knowing before the name leaves his lips. He doesn’t remember what it was before. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“Jolyon,” Uldren echoes quietly, eyes trailing away as he repeats it to himself. “Jolyon... Jol… Hm. Yeah, I like that.”

Jolyon’s heart squeezes in his chest, he smiles so wide his cheeks ache.

“Me too,” he says, and Uldren smiles back.

They’re quiet for a moment, before Uldren leans in close. He brings one hand up to Jolyon’s face, staring with quiet fascination.

“Your eyes are different,” he says, curiously. “They’re green now. I think they were brown before.”

His thumb brushes ever so slightly along Jolyon’s cheek, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to lean into Uldren’s palm, to feel the heat of it against his skin. Before he gets the chance, Uldren’s hand drifts away, toying absently with a stray lock of Jolyon’s hair.

“And your hair… it’s all different, now, isn’t that incredible? Was I different, before?”

Jolyon squints at him, struggling to picture the color of Uldren’s eyes. Now they’re bright, sparkling gold, hair black as night and starlight dancing under his skin. Jolyon can’t imagine him any other way.

“I don’t remember,” he says. 

Uldren leans back on his hands.

“I don’t remember a lot of the details, either,” he shrugs. “Everything's all hazy. Maybe it’ll come back in time. Maybe not.”

Jolyon hums, staring down at his hands, pale green-blue and streaked with the same ripples of starlight as Uldren. They weren't like that before, he's almost certain. A million questions sit on the tip of his tongue, but he can't seem to find the words to ask them - Uldren starts to answer anyways.

"Sorry I didn't bring you back sooner," Uldren sighs, lying back in the grass. He closes his eyes, and tilts his face into the sunshine. "Alis, the captain, she's made all these plans with Mara, everything's got an order."

"Mara…" 

The name stirs something in Jolyon's gut. He remembers Mara - his friend, Uldren's sister. Mara, the one making all the rules to their games when they were little, Mara, the reason they were on the colony ship in the first place. Mara, the one who always chose the whiskey from their mother's cabinet, the one who would make up constellations as they stared at the night sky, would name them fantastic things as she traced the shape of them with her finger. He remembers, too, how Uldren would look at her as she pointed up at the stars, like she was the one who hung them there.

"Everybody remembers Mara," Uldren chuckles.

Jolyon grimaces, just for a second. He remembers, more than anything, wanting to be alone with Uldren. To see what constellations they might find without her.

Uldren doesn't notice his reaction, and keeps talking.

"Alis woke up first," he explains, counting on his fingers above him. "And she woke Mara, so she was second. I was… seventh, I think? I guess Alis thought it was important to talk to some fancy physicists and scientists from the pods first. And then Mara woke me and Mom."

Waking. It's so humble, but it’s the perfect word to describe the feeling. The sudden awareness, and the fogginess that accompanies it - like trying to reorient yourself after a nap that dragged on too long. It’s certainly a more palatable way of phrasing it than the truth - necromancy, an impossible undeath, his body changed and brimming with magic, the memories of his past life no more than a faded photograph…

"You're eighty-fourth," Uldren continues, gesturing at Jolyon. "Like I said, Alis had the ship's manifest, and she's got this big plan for everything, this order we should wake everyone in. Got to get food and shelter and safety all sorted out first, and some sort of societal infrastructure to indoctrinate everybody into as they wake up, or whatever."

He waves his hands dismissively, as if the mass resurrection and rebirth of society was of no more interest to him than what he had for breakfast. Maybe it's not.

“Honestly, it’s all kind of bullshit,” he muses. “Some people are starting to wake on their own, and there were so many of us, even just on the crew - if we stick to Alis’ plans it’s going to take ages…”

He trails off, then sits up with a grin.

"But for now - I really wasn't supposed to bring you back, yet," he laughs, pointing at Jolyon accusingly. "If anyone asks, it was an accident."

"Why did you do it then?" Jolyon laughs, shoving his hand away playfully.

Uldren grins, and shrugs.

"Bored." His eyes drift away, looking out across the meadow as his voice softens. "I missed you, I guess."

For a moment, Jolyon feels light as air, and that warm squeeze in his chest bubbles up into his throat.

And then, something pricks at his heart, a dark pang of something he wishes he'd forgotten. 

He remembers the fabric of everything stretching and twisting, he remembers the dark, throbbing hum in the back of his skull. He remembers sitting huddled together in the corner of a store room, remembers the spiteful realization that they were finally alone together, and all it took to get there was the end of the universe. He remembers bursting out into tears, hugging Uldren so tight into his chest and trying to find the words to tell him, just once, before the end. To let that wildfire inside him burn freely, before it was extinguished forever. He opened his mouth to say it, to say something, and in the exact same moment, Uldren pulled away.

"I'm going to find Mara," he said, and Jolyon's heart had shattered. "I'll be back, I promise."

Jolyon had died alone, with Uldren's last lie bitter in his ears as everything ripped apart.

But now…here he was. And Jolyon knows, the hand that reached into the darkness and saved him from death’s embrace was Uldren’s, he’d pulled him out of infinite slumber into bright sunlight, and smiled at him. He’d kept his promise in the end, hadn’t he? More than that, he’d saved him, he’d brought him back to life - isn’t that more than enough, to forgive the agony of a half-remembered death? What does it matter, now?

I missed you, I guess.

"Well… thanks, I guess," Jolyon murmurs, after a long silence. There's too much to say, so that will have to do, for now.

Slowly, Jolyon follows his gaze out over the plains, taking in the untamed landscape. He doesn’t remember much, but he knows he’s never seen anything like it - growing things, in every direction, nature unlike anything they'd had back home. Wide, glittering rivers snaking out into the distance, disappearing behind great mountain ranges, and forests that sprawl out for miles, the distant sounds of a million wild things.

“Where are we?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Uldren laughs, his voice brimming with excitement. “Nobody knows. It’s amazing - we have no idea how big it is, everything’s just beginning."

Jolyon looks up at the sky, split from horizon to horizon by two giant glowing streaks of light. Planetary rings, he thinks - at night, would there be stars beyond those rings? The same stars they’d known before, or new ones?

“It’s beautiful,” Jolyon whispers.

"I know!" Uldren shouts, gesturing out at the vista before them. "Look at this place, I want to get out there and see it, but everybody's all caught up in Alis' plan and nobody cares about exploring yet. It'll be months before they get everyone woken up, I can't stand it! Every chance I get I come out here to poke around, but... Mara's always busy, she never comes with me."

There's a sting in his voice as he trails off, but before Jolyon can comment, he shakes the moment's vulnerability away. He points down at the distant treeline, at the other side of the meadow.

"The other day, I saw this bird down there - it was jet black, I thought it was a crow at first, but it was huge."

He holds out his hands, measuring the distance.

"The size of an eagle, at least. It was beautiful, Jol - I want to find its nest, and I'm going to tame one."

"You're gonna catch a bird?" Jolyon laughs. "That's your first priority, after cheating death?"

"Well, no, I needed to wake you up first," Uldren laughs back, shoving his shoulder lightly. "So you could help me track it down, obviously."

Jolyon shoves back, and lets his hand linger on Uldren's shoulder just a second longer than it needs to. He thinks he'll like it here, wherever they are. Alone, with Uldren.

"Sure," he says, watching the excitement shimmer behind Uldren's eyes. "Why not."

[banshee1013]

Suptober / Flufftober Day 4 - The Flames and the Light

Waaaaay behind but still plugging away at this thing and this thing.

Prompts: Suptober: Nimbus Flufftober: Cinderella Moment

Today's installment is below and on AO3, and also added to the series October Days (and Nights).

Title: The Flames and the Light Rating: Teen Warnings: No Warnings Apply  Tags: Men of Letters Bunker, Winchester House Fire, Dean Winchester in Hell, Dean Winchester is Saved, Righteous Man Dean Winchester, Visions, Memories Summary: Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him.

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love. Words: 603 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50938690

==============================

“Hey, Sunshine, there you are.” Dean’s voice projects over his shoulder, his back to Castiel as he crouches by the hearth of the fireplace in the Bunker’s library. Castiel can hear the soft swish of the brush as Dean sweeps the spent ashes of a previous fire into a dustpan.

The back of Dean’s head inclines toward the two plushy upholstered chairs opposite the fireplace, lit by a small hurricane lamp on the small table between them. The flickering flame within sparkles on the crystal decanter filled with what Castiel knows is Dean’s favorite whiskey, accompanied by two matching glasses. 

“Just need to clean this up before laying a new fire. Don’t want to burn the place down or anything.”

Castiel begins to take a seat as requested when Dean rises from his crouch and turns to beam a smile at him. He wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving a trail of soot…

And Castiel is struck still as an image arises in his mind…

A dark street, lit only by flashing red and blue lights and a dim yellow glow. A small boy sitting on the hood of a large black car, his arms overfilled with a small, wimpering bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. The lights flicker across cheeks ashen with shock and residue from the flames that consumed his family home and set him on his path. 

Castiel blinks, reality returning with a metallic clatter as Dean empties the ashes into the bin by the hearth and turns, his arms filled with firewood. He sets the wood on the metal grate inside the firebox, reaches for the box of fireplace matches on the mantle and strikes one. The bright yellow-blue flash as the match catches turning to red-gold and sparking off the highlights in Dean’s hair as he applies it to the kindling. Yellow orange flames flick as the kindling catches and licks the dark wood bark, turning it gold and then red as the flames climb.

Dean rises and rubs his hands over the flames, cinders rising around him before being swept up into the flue like dying stars. 

Another image arises in Castiel’s mind, unbidden…

He and his brethren, their armor shining sullen red and burnt gold from the fires of Hell even through the smoke and haze — but their goal was something which shone brighter still. The Righteous Man, the nimbus of his glowing soul cutting through the smoke like a beacon. Castiel both curses the necessity of their rescue, but relishes being the first to reach him, the first to touch that shining soul with his Grace, the one to grip him and raise him from Perdition. 

Hester had said, “When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” She claimed the touch of Dean’s soul had corrupted him. 

She was partly correct: touching Dean’s soul, bright and warm in a place that was so sullen and cold, changed him; but it wasn’t corruption.

It was love. 

He’s pulled from the vision by Dean’s solid, firm grip on his shoulders, his warmth flowing onto Castiel’s skin like sun-warmed honey. 

“Hey, Cas.” Castiel blinks and finds himself staring into green eyes sparking gold from the firelight. “Everything okay?”

Castiel’s hand rises to touch Dean’s cheek, brushes against the solid, warm skin there.

He had to make sure — the light of Dean’s soul still so bright, so warm, Castiel couldn’t be sure he wasn’t still locked in his vision.

“Perfect.”

Dean huffs a soft chuckle as he pulls Castiel to his chest, wrapping him in light and love. 

“Yeah, you are.”