#groomsman card

[double-dare-designs]

Groomsman Card

Personalize

https://www.zazzle.com/tuxedo_groomsman_invitation-256768432208008104

[neurantics-theythem]

I’m nonbinary but only out irl to a very few select people, including one of my best friends who’s getting married this year. This is how she asked me to be in her wedding and it’s the cutest thing ever… I still can’t get over it 😭😭😭

[harrywavycurly]

Do we ask Niall to be our man of honor since Gemma is Harry’s best woman? If so I’d love to see a little something of us asking him because as snarky as Niall is I know he’d cry 😂😊😊

Hiii lovey!!! Oh 1000% Niall James Horan is the man of honor, I will happily give you how it went when you asked him! I love how in this series it’s normal to just assume everyone is always crying 😂💖

-find all things Lonely here✨

A/N: Niall doesn’t do well with surprises but this really isn’t what he was expecting, enjoy a look at how you and Niall communicate because you two are besties✨

“Why are you in such a rush?” You ignore Niall’s question as your grip on his hand tightens as you practically drag him towards the back of the restaurant, smiling at the bartender as you head towards a private room that you had spent the better half of the afternoon decorating with the help of a very huffy and puffy Harry who wanted nothing more than to enjoy his Saturday lazing about on the couch, but who was he to tell his fiancé no. “What are we doing back here? Last time you and I went through a door like this it was in Paris and we accidentally stumbled upon that sex club place and honestly I still have nightmares about what we saw so please just tell me-”

“Niall.” Your voice stops his ranting as the two of you are now standing outside the door of the private room. You give his hand a little squeeze making him look down at you, his eyes are a bit wide and he’s bitting his bottom lip so you know he’s nervous for whatever’s on the other side of the door and you want to laugh because you know what’s waiting for him but you don’t you just bring your free hand up and give his cheek a playful pat. “We swore we’d never talk about that night again didn’t we? But don’t worry there’s nothing weird behind this door. Trust me.” You watch him nod as he lets out a deep breath as you let go of his hand so you can take a small step back and let him enter the room on his own. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at you over his shoulder and when you just give him a reassuring smile he turns his attention back to the daunting black door in front of him.

“Fuck it.” You laugh as he mumbles the words as his hand grips the doorknob giving it a twist so it’ll open. You slowly follow him into the little room and you clasp your hands behind your back as you watch Niall take in the sight before him. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” His eyes are the size of golf balls as he fully steps into the room, not sure what to focus on first.

You know the surprise in his voice is genuine because while Niall Horan may be your bestfriend, when he found out you and Harry were getting married he didn’t assume he was going to be apart of it other than a guest or maybe a groomsman for Harry but that was a big maybe since everyone has always considered Niall more yours than Harry’s. So asking him to not only be in your wedding party but the Man of Honor wasn’t something he was expecting so he surly wasn’t prepared to be asked like this.

You got fancy silver balloons that spelled out “Be my Man of Honor?” And hung them on the wall above the little couch that was in the room and then got white and powder pink streamers and hung them from the ceiling framing the balloons and on the wall across from the couch you picked some of your favorite photos of the two of you throughout your decade long friendship and clipped them to some fairy lights that Harry neatly hung in nice rows while you stood off to the side and supervised. Sitting on the table in front of the couch was a basket filled with random things Niall would need to help plan wedding activities, a flask with his name engraved on it and his title, little bottles of his favorite liquor and a card that would no doubt make him cry when he reads it. But the thing that you know was going to really send him into shock was the two pints of Guinness sitting next to the basket, something you know he’d instantly take as your way of bribing him to say yes and normally he wouldn’t be wrong but this time it was just a token of your love and appreciation for him.

“Did you really think I’d be able to marry that lanky hunk of a man without the help of my bestfriend?” Niall turns to look at you from where he’s standing in the middle of the room and you feel your eyes begin to get that all too familiar sting to them when you see the look on his face. His eyes are still a little wide but glossy and his cheeks are a tiny bit pink while his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth and you know he’s doing his best not to full on lose it.

“You’re a proper asshole for this.” Is all he says before you meet him half way and he’s wrapping his arms around your shoulders bringing you into his chest for a hug. “Like really you get me all dressed up just to make me fucking cry in a back room of a pub.” You just laugh as your arms wrap around his middle, you feel him rest his chin on the top of your head and let out a sigh. “Tammy is gonna be pissed you didn’t ask her.”

“Tammy? You thought I’d ask Tammy to be my maid of honor?” You pull away from him just enough so you can look up at him with a raised brow making him just shrug as he looks down at you. “Niall she doesn’t even like Harry why would I ask her to help me plan my wedding to him?”

“I mean I don’t like him either and here I am.”

“Oh shut up you love him.”

“Yeah whatever. So what’s a man of honor do anyway? Is this a paying gig?” You can’t help but laugh and shake your head as Niall releases his hold on you so he can walk over to the table and take a look at what you put in the basket. “Is this a checklist of things I have to do? Why do I have to do so bloody much? It’s your wedding not mine.” His tone is teasing as he flips through the notebook you put in the basket that had random things in it that you found online that listed what most maid of honors did so you figured a man of honor could do them as well. “This says hold the bride’s dress while she pees? Now I love you and all but I’m not holding your dress while you pee.” He states as he looks from the notebook and over to you.

“I held your hair when you got sick at Halloween two years ago when Amelia was out of town.”

“That was a wig so it wasn’t even my actual hair.”

“So? I still held it while you got sick. So why can’t you hold my dress while I pee? It’s not like you’ll see anything you big ninny.”

“Ninny? Real mature. Does Harry know one of my jobs is watching you take a piss?”

“No but-”

“You know how weird he’s always been about people getting too close to you and that was before he went and decided to marry you. I can’t imagine he’s gonna take too kindly to seeing me follow you into the bathroom so I can assist you in taking a leak.”

“Fine I’ll have someone else assist me during my bathroom breaks you asshole.”

“I’m not an asshole I’m being a proper gentleman and not trying to get an inappropriate glimpse of my bestfriend’s lady bits on her actual fucking wedding day.” The two of you stare at each other for a moment, both of you have your hands on your hips and playful glares in your eyes but Niall is first to break as his mouth forms a grin before he starts laughing making you laugh as well.

“I love you Niall.” Your voice is soft once you finally get your laughter under control, you reach for one of his hands so you can give it a nice squeeze. “Thank you for being my man of honor.” You add making him shrug as he leans down and grabs one of the pints of Guinness off the table with his free hand.

“I love you too and you’re welcome because it says here I get to plan your bachelorette party so you’re in for a world of fun love.” You roll your eyes when he shoots you a wink before he brings the pint up to his lips to take a good long swig. “I’m thinking strippers and a round of golf. How’s that sound?”

“Horrible.”

[florencemtrash]

Wedding Invitations

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Miguel take the day to distribute wedding invitations to the Spider-Gang. But in the midst of all the congratulations they forget to tell a very important member of the wedding party...

Warnings: Fluff, Spider-Gang family dynamics, Miguel's got a touch of baby fever

Author's Note: I FINALLY got around to writing this Miguel x Reader oneshot that's been in my WIP dump for ages. This can be read on its own, or as a continuation of my Hummingbird series.

Masterlist of Masterlists

________________________

You blinked around Spidey-HQ, buzzing with excitement and armed with a stack of cream-colored envelopes. The cards within had the following words printed in lacy gold lettering:  

Miguel O’Hara and Y/n L/n Invite you to join their wedding celebration on Saturday, October 15,  2105 at 4:30pm St. Javier’s Cathedral 115 Hammond St

You’d visited Pavitr first, finding him tucked away in an alcove on the top floors where he went about carefully oiling his hair. 

“FINALLY!” He squealed, sprinting away to wash his hands before gingerly accepting the invitation like you’d just handed him a million dollars. “You’re getting married!” He snatched one hand, then the other, splaying your fingers and searching for the ring, “Where is it? Where is it? I want to see it.”

You chuckled, “Calm down, Gollum.” You reached into your shirt, pulling out the chain where you’d been hiding the ring for the past eight months. “I don’t wear it very often. Art teacher and superhero - remember?” 

It was a shame. It was a beautiful, vintage ring originally belonging to Miguel’s mother. He’d since updated it, replacing two of the missing stones with small burgundy gems that matched the color of his eyes. Even if you couldn’t wear it often, you kept it with you at all times, resting against your heart. 

Pavitr began to vibrate with excitement, bouncing on his feet. “Can I-Can I tell-?”

“Yes, you can tell people.” 

“Really?!” He brightened up.

“Yes. Miguel’s probably already sent out a general announcement by now.”

As if on cue both your watches beeped, a red notification popping up.

Announcement:  Y/n and I are getting married. Don’t get upset if you're not invited to the ceremony. There are literally thousands of you. Reception will be at Spidey HQ atrium Saturday, October 15, 2105 at 7pm. All are welcome.

“Perfect timing.” You said, smiling at the words Y/n and I are getting married. You still couldn’t believe it, even though you’d been sitting on the knowledge in silence for the past six months.

“Oh and Pavitr. Miguel will probably ask you this again later but… would you like to be a groomsman in the wedding?” 

Pavitr’s lips trembled, then broke into the widest smile imaginable, brown eyes crinkling. He surged forward, wrapping his lanky arms around you and spinning you around.

“YES! YES! A million times yes!” He gasped. You may as well have gotten on your knees and asked for his hand in marriage. “Oh my goodness this is all I've ever wanted. What are the wedding colors? I need to get a new sherwani.” He finally let you down, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you desperately, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER?!” 

You gripped his hands, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling. Pavitr's energy was unmatched and you could feel his joy rubbing off on you.

“It’s really going to be a simple ceremony. And we didn’t want to pressure any of you with the typical wedding prep stuff.” 

He looked incredulous, “So no bachelorette party? No-no manicure days or spa days or...” 

You shook your head no and his jaw dropped.

“WRONG!” He shouted, touching the tip of your nose with his finger, “Are you free next Saturday night? Yes? Good.” He shook his finger at you, “No wedding prep stuff? Really? Pah!” He threw his hands in the air, muttering as he walked away and started dialing up Gwen and Miles.

“You told Pavitr before you told me?!” Gwen asked, mouth agape. She pushed her lunch tray to the side, the excitement chasing away her appetite for the time being.

“Fuck that. You told Pavitr before you told me?!” Miles slammed the milk carton on the table, spilling a few drops, “I thought I was your favorite.” 

“Piss off, Miles.” Gwen teased, ruffling his curls. "I'm her favorite."

“One semester abroad with Hobie and you’re already sounding like a Brit.” He teased back, never moving far enough apart from her that they weren’t touching. 

She’d recently gone for a shag haircut. The tips of her dyed hair fading into a pale bubblegum blue. The new nose piercing completed the look and Miles was smitten.

You wrung your hands together. “Well I’m telling you now! And! I’m asking you to be part of the wedding party. So what do you say? Wanna be a groomsman and a bridesmaid?”

They didn’t even look at each other before saying, “Absolutely!” In perfect unison.

The rest of the day went similarly, full of excited squeals and hugs and twirls. Everyone at Spidey-HQ - minus some of the newcomers - knew who you were and didn’t hesitate to shout their joy, whooping and calling out across the atrium.

“CONGRATS, TEACH!” 

“LET’S GO! SPIDER-WEDDING!” 

“CONGRATULATIONS!” 

Hobie leaned against the window, hands shoved into the pockets of his patchwork leather jacket and flashing every color of the rainbow. 

He stuck his hand out without a word, a crooked smile on his face, “I don’t believe in state-sanctioned marriage, you know. You and Miguel are already married - have been for ages in my book.”

“You rummaged around in your bag for the last of the invitations, finally locating the envelope that had slipped into one of the inner pockets and out of sight. 

You hesitated, trying to hide your disappointment, “... so does that mean you’re not coming then?”

Hobie quickly snatched the invitation out of your hands, slinging his arm around your shoulder and rubbing the top of your head with his knuckles. You laughed, shoving him away and fixing the tangles he’d made in your hair. 

“Pffft, of course I’m coming. It’s important to you.” He shoved the cream-colored paper into his pockets alongside a couple posters he hadn’t found a proper place to plaster them on yet. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He smirked, “But I hope you’re not expecting me to show up in a suit.” 

“Wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”

“And are you going to ask me to be a groomsman or something? Make a toast at dinner?” There was no contempt in his voice… If anything he seemed expectant. Happy. 

“Actually, Miguel and I were hoping you could be the flower girl with May and Benjy.” 

He brightened up, flashing a sunflower yellow and shooting off curls of newspaper print like fireworks. 

“HA! I like it. I like it.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets, opening his arms wide and sighing like he was giving up on an age-old war, “Alright, get in here, girl. I wanna hug you.” 

You giggled, scrunching up your nose in satisfied glee as Hobie finally gave into his softness. He liked to pretend he was cooler than everyone else in the room - and he usually was - but that didn’t stop him from also being the softest person you’d ever met. 

“Congratulations.” He said, propping his head up on top of your head and mussing up your hair once again.

“Thanks, Hobie.” 

You weren’t alone in spreading the news - Miguel was making his own rounds. Margo was the first one he’d told, by virtue of the fact that she was nearest to his office. 

“Hey, Margo.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. He held out the envelope, Margo’s headpiece peeling away from her sleek cornrows. Her eyes glittered purple, wide open and staring.

“Really?” She asked hesitantly, reaching out for the paper. 

“Of course, Margo. You’re family. We want you there.” 

Her eyes softened and she read through the invitation quietly.

“Y/n was also hoping you’d be a bridesmaid.” He tapped the additional paper sealed in her envelope. “Nothing fancy, but we wanted you at the front with everyone else. Miles, Gwen, Peter B, LEGO P-oof.” 

Miguel huffed as Margo all but rammed into his chest, the edges of her flickering. Who knew virtual reality bodies were so durable and dense.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice.

Margo didn’t like to talk about home, preferring the VR life she led with the Spider-Society. They were her real family now… she just liked the confirmation. 

“Anytime, kid.” 

She cleared her throat, pushing him away as quickly as she’d hugged him. “Alright, get out of here. I’m sure everyone wants to see you right now.” She turned around, wiping at her eyes in real life. Her VR body did the same. 

Miguel chuckled, rubbing his neck again. He wasn’t used to the kind of attention he’d been receiving since meeting you and learning to open up again. It was almost as if he was likable when he wasn’t acting like a complete asshole.

He was chased by compliments and congratulations all day, Spider-people stopping him to clap him on the back or to bump shoulders like they knew just how absolutely whipped he was.

Something about announcing your engagement to the world made the whole thing feel more real, like he could taste it as physically as he could taste your lips whenever he kissed you. He didn’t wear his engagement ring very often for the same reasons as you, but he slipped it on his finger halfway through the day, standing a little straighter, and looking a little prouder after doing so. 

LEGO Peter was next and he’d practically swooned when Miguel had handed him his invitation between his thumb and pointer finger. He’d printed an extra-small version for him. Then he’d fainted when Miguel asked him to be a groomsman, his brick body going rigid and toppling back with the same rattle as a teacup saucer.

“I’m taking that as a yes!” Miguel called out, slipping his head back out of the portal into his own universe.

He needed to make a home visit for Jessica, but she had a champagne bottle ready to burst when Miguel appeared into her home in a crackle of color and brushstrokes.

“AHH! HA!” She tossed her head back with glee. Her mane of pitch black hair smelled like coconut and citrus. “CONGRATULATIONS! Malcolm! Malcolm, get your ass in here. Miguel’s arrived.” 

Her husband slid across the living room entrance, a chubby three-year-old boy balanced on his hip and grabbing at his locs. 

“Miguel!” 

“Hey, Malcolm.”

“Mig!” 

“Heyyyy, Jefferson.” Miguel laughed when the little boy grabbed at him, latching onto a strand of brown hair and tugging. 

Jessica clicked her tongue, “Jeff, what have we talked about.”

“Sorry.” The boy apologized, patting Miguel’s head and slapping him in the face in the process. 

“It’s alright, kid.” 

“OOooooh. Get in here, Migs.” Jessica was grinning brighter than the sun, radiating warmth as she wound her arms around his ribs and used her strength to lift him off his feet and shake him like a rag doll.

“Careful, Jess. Can’t break the groom before his wedding.” 

“Pfffft, Miguel’s not made of glass, honey.” 

That much was obvious enough. Miguel had to keep his body crooked to avoid banging his head against the hanging ceiling lights. 

“Congratulations, man.” Malcolm hugged him next, being notably gentler than his wife. He still slapped Miguel’s back hard enough to rattle his shoulders though. 

Miguel stayed for a long while, until him and Jess had made their way through three bottles of champagne just because they could. Their bodies burned through alcohol way too quickly to get drunk - a fact that had disappointed Miles when he went off to college for the first time last year. 

Jess and Malcolm leaned towards one another like sunflowers to light, with little Jefferson splashed across both their knees and struggling to stay awake as the sun pressed against the windows and turned their pale yellow walls golden. 

That would be him someday, with you and your son.

The thought shook him to his core. First, because it was a secret hope that he’d never dared to even dream about and second, because it was now possible. Wonderfully, beautifully possible. 

His heart began to flutter, the absence of you by his side suddenly feeling like a gaping hole instead of a subtle ache. 

Jess seemed to understand that, making a show of looking at the clock and then down at her son’s open mouth drooling against Malcolm’s arm. 

“We should get this little guy to bed.” 

“On it.” 

“I’ll head out then. Thanks for everything, Jess.”

She made a noise with her tongue, brushing off his thanks with a graceful wave of her hand. “Get out of here you big sap. And tell Y/n I said congratulations too! Actually, scratch that. I’m coming in tomorrow so I’ll tell her in person.” 

Miguel chuckled, “Alright then.” 

He gave a final hug to Malcolm and Jessica. Jefferson stirred in his mother’s arms just long enough to babble something that sounded adorably close to, “I’m not… I’m not sleepy. I-” before his eyes rolled back and he slumped onto Jessica’s shoulder. 

You sat curled up in Miguel’s office chair, legs thrown over one of the armrests as you flipped through the pages of your book on the life of Aubrey Vincent Beardsley. Occasionally your eyes would flicker to the array of monitors, watching the careful web of universes as they flickered and morphed. Fluid, but stable, and in a perfect balance of chaos and order. 

Miguel drifted into the room behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

“Mi amor,” He murmured. You hummed happily, tilting your head further to give him better access. “How is everything going on with you?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

“That’s a pretty great answer.” He chuckled, finishing with a quick kiss to your lips. He came around, lifting you up with ease before sitting down in his chair and placing you in his lap, “And how are things in the Spider-Verse?”  

You made a self-satisfied hmph sound. Thank god he’d finally stopped calling it the Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. What a mouthful. 

“Holding strong and steady.” You flicked your fingers to the side, pulling up the latest day report that you’d already handed two hours ago, “B76’s Black Cat and 1805’s Venom were the only anomalies. Done and dusted with no issue. Reports are on file under Project Catalyst.”

“Perfect.” 

Miguel stretched comfortably, curling in on you and resting his head on your chest like the world’s most luxurious cat.

You snorted, blinking your book away with a snap of your fingers and running your fingers through his hair just the way he liked. He groaned softly when you lightly dragged your fingernails against his scalp. 

“Right there, babe.” He encouraged, sighing with contentment. 

You stayed like that for a long while, one of Miguel’s arms wrapped around your waist and his other hand snaking up your stomach to rub circles against your smooth skin. Unbeknownst to you, he was quietly thinking about what it might be like if you ever decided to have kids. If one day he’d be so lucky to lay like this against you and quietly talk to the little child growing in your stomach. 

He shook his head, he was getting ahead of himself.

“Everything ok, Migs?” You curled your finger beneath his chin, gently tilting his face up to look at you. His eyes softened.

“Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” 

You couldn’t help it, you blushed under the softness of his gaze. It was strange how you could get into hundreds of fist-fights, get knocked on your ass dozens of times over, and yet crumble at the sight of his auburn eyes. You didn’t mind the vulnerability though - you knew Miguel felt the same. 

You looked down at his hands, noticing the flash of silver on his finger.

"You wore it today?"

He smiled when you took his hand in yours, kissing his palm, "Felt appropriate."

You tugged the necklace out from under your shirt, carefully slipping the ring off the chain. Miguel took it wordlessly from you, gently kissing your hand before sliding the ring onto your finger. It was warm to the touch after hours pressed against your heart and Miguel felt a surge of love flood his chest seeing you wear it.

“Busy day, huh?” You asked when he settled back down, holding your hand tightly in his.

He groaned, “You could say that. I don’t think I’ve ever had so many people talk to me in my life.” 

You prodded him in the side, “That’s not saying very much.”

“Ouch.” He grinned, kissing your chest. 

“Did everyone say yes to joining the wedding party?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yup.” Your lips popped on the end of the word.

Miguel grinned wide and unabashedly leaning closer to you, “Then we got ourselves a wedding,” he said, smiling against your lips. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon. 

You chuckled, “Maybe we shouldn’t have sprung this on them so soon.”

Miguel shrugged, “We needed to tell them at some point, cariño. And it’s not like we’re doing all the extra stuff. They just need to show up to the church at this point.” 

“I know that. But Pavitr seemed to disagree. Apparently I'm going to have a bachelorette party next weekend.” 

He pouted, “No party for me?! I’m hurt.” 

“Peter didn’t bring it up with you? I thought he'd be over the moon about being Best Man.”

Miguel’s head shot up, thick brows furrowing in confusion beneath a bed of ruffled curls, “I thought you were going to tell Peter.”

You tipped your head to the side, “I thought you were going to tell to Peter?” 

“Yeah, LEGO Peter.” 

Silence, thick and full of horror fell over both of you. 

“Did… did neither of us tell Peter and MJ?” You whispered. 

Miguel closed his eyes, his face plummeting into the soft skin of your chest, “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

The double doors to Miguel’s office slid open with a groan of disappointment. Peter stood there with his legs splayed, carving out a disgruntled shape in his signature pink bathrobe that he never took off, especially with the new addition to his family. 

Mayday clung to her father’s chest, her brother’s chestnut mop poking out from behind Peter’s shoulder. Benjy’s grin was gummy and wide and he wore matching noise-canceling headphones with his sister.

“Fuck.” You repeated, your face falling flat. 

MJ leaned against the doorway and rubbed her temples with one hand, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter as Peter stalked forward, absolutely livid. 

“You MOTHERFUCK—

*cut scene*

*Alexa, play 'Blitzkrieg Bop' by The Ramones*

____________________

Author's note (again!):

Just some funny gifs I thought were appropriate for the characters:

Peter storming into the room because his best friends forgot to tell him about their engagement:

Pavitr learning he's going to be part of the wedding party:

LEGO Peter learning he's going to be part of the wedding party:

Hope you guys enjoyed!

Love,

Florence B.

[farfromstrange]

Mismatched Bridesmaid | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 2 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Deciding to go to your old college roommate's wedding turns into a bad idea when you suddenly have to function as a bridesmaid until you're paired with a very handsome groomsman.

Warnings: Fluff, attempt at humor, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral f!receiving, use of "good girl", One-Night Stand, shameless flirting, kind of "horny at first sight", so cheesy it might make you hate cheese

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: I was wondering why this didn't post until I saw that I hit "save draft" instead of schedule, so this may come on time for some and too late for others, but I'm still awake, so it counts as the 15th. Also, when I wrote this it was after hinting at it on here, and I was excited at first, but I'm not too happy with it now because it's just silly and falls a little flat, in my opinion. This is why I went back in and edited a hell of a lot, adding some things, etc. Nevertheless, I promised to clear out the vault for this event, so this is it. I got inspired by seeing the She-Hulk clips when the episode with Matty came out. It may or may not be noticeable. We're also working with the Nelson, Murdock & Page narrative. Enjoy!

You are not made for white-veil occasions. 

While weddings, in their essence, symbolize unity while covering different facets of romantic beauty, they are also inherently stressful for nearly everyone involved in the proceedings. Over the years of adulthood, you’ve found that weddings tend to end in disaster when you attend—and you are not particularly fond of engaging in drama.

When your old college roommate sent you an invitation to her wedding in June, you considered responding with no. You’ve been close for a few years, but then you graduated, found separate careers, and then never talked again. You weren’t sure why she would send you an invitation until you called the number on the back of the card and you began catching up. She told you that she wanted to invite you because you were a vital part of her early twenties, and it reminded you that you are both adults and you have both grown beyond what you thought possible, so you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell her that you couldn’t make it to her wedding. Instead, you told her that you wouldn’t miss it for the world. That answer though seemed to have turned destiny against you. 

You were excited when you arrived at the chapel this morning, but as soon as your foot touched the holy ground, everything went wrong. Maybe it is because you’re an atheist and God hates you, or maybe Karma just really fucking loves toying with you. Either way, when your friend’s maid of honor—also one of the few people you hung out with during your wild college days—came up to you, looking pale and panicked, you knew that the curse you always bring to weddings was only continuing to wreak havoc. 

She said to you, “One of the girls got into a car accident on her way here. Don’t worry, she’s not dead, just a broken wrist, but that means we are one bridesmaid short. I need someone to step in before Janet finds out and cuts off my head for ruining her wedding day,” and she was deadly serious about it, too.

You knew that it was a mistake to come to this wedding, especially without a date or a plus-one to fall back on. 

You were so focused on marveling at the beautiful white and golden decorations living the aisle, fantasizing about the day you might be walking down one of those that you didn’t think anything could go wrong since everything had been going so right. You should have known better than to trust that treacherous feeling of excitement that you made sure to nurture before breakfast so you could enjoy the ceremony and the party afterward without making it dependent on the open bar—although that fact did help.

Instead of dreaming about free drinks though, you’re being squeezed into a satin green dress with a low cut in the front, and someone you don’t know is slathering burgundy lipstick onto your lips. They are purposely trying to turn you into a copy of all the other bridesmaids, and you hate it. You hate it so much you get the sudden urge to scratch your eyes out and tear the skin off your lips. 

Janet, the maid of honor, comes back up to you. She’s aged at least ten years since you last saw her when she pulled you away from the aisle. You feel for her. The entire weight of this wedding rests on her shoulders. 

She eyes you, checking your outfit, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank God, you’re hot,” she mutters. You’re not sure if you were supposed to hear it. 

“Thank you?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Alright.” She fixes the corners of your lipstick. “We need to pair you with a different guy than Miss I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Drive was supposed to walk down the aisle with. Your looks don’t match. You’ll get Kathy’s partner,” she says. “And we need to line up, like, now because shit is happening in five minutes, not a second later. We can’t give Bridezilla the time to kill us all.”

With a frown, you ask, “Is she aware at all of what’s happening?” 

Janet shakes her head. “No, and it’s better this way. Trust me.”

You stop questioning her. She knows what she’s doing. 

When she guides you outside to line up, you’re not sure what to expect. You don’t know the groom, and you don’t know his friends. You’re here on your own, and now you’re part of a bridal party that you are also barely familiar with, wearing a dress that you were forced into for the sake of aesthetics. You hate when something is reduced to aesthetics because beauty has many facets, and you would have walked down that aisle with anyone as long as you could get it over with. 

Until you see him. Strikingly dark hair in a perfectly cut tuxedo that underlines the muscles hiding underneath the fabric. His eyes are hidden behind round, red glasses that reflect the sunlight coming in through the already stained glass of the chapel’s windows. In his hands, he’s holding a white cane, leaning his entire weight on it as he waits. And he waits for none other than you. 

Janet paired you with the most beautiful man on this planet, you can’t deny that. The way he stands there, his sharp jawline on full display—he looks ethereal. Just looking at him makes you sweat, and you’re starting to panic. What if she made a mistake? You can’t do this. You can’t—

“Matt,” she says and shoves you beside him into the line of bridesmaids and groomsmen. 

Janet introduces you, and then she’s gone. She pushes you into the cold water, forcing you to learn how to swim. 

He tilts his head in your direction. “Hi,” he says. The sound of his voice resembles the purr of a black cat as it reverberates, but his grin reminds you of the Devil himself. 

Fuck. Me. 

You either did something very wrong to land here, or you did everything right. 

“Hi,” you stammer. One look at him, and the blood rushes to your cheeks. Your face is burning. 

He offers you his hand. “I’m Matt,” he says as if Janet didn’t already expose that to you.

Still, you take his hand. It’s the polite thing to do. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so stupid.

Matt chuckles. Even his laugh sounds bittersweet. Like dark chocolate. “I, uh, gathered as much.”

“I’m sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m not—this is really weird. I don’t even know what to say.” You pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, maybe that will make it less embarrassing.

His features soften. There is no judgment. You can’t see his eyes, but there is a certain softness about him that throws you off guard, but you no longer feel like you’re drowning. “If it helps, I’m only here because I helped the groom graduate law school by writing his essays, and he feels like he owes me, so…I also don’t want to be here,” he says, and he reaches up to adjust his glasses. You get a small glimpse of his eyes. They’re hazel. Beautiful. He has an aura that draws you in; it’s not just his physical beauty that strikes you.

This man—this magnetic force of a man called Matt—is a stranger. He’s a man you were paired with to walk down the aisle even though you were never meant to be a bridesmaid in this wedding in the first place. So many things are happening to and around you at once, and you can feel the flames starting to burn and sizzle away at your skin. 

You should pull yourself together. You shouldn’t stare at him. You shouldn’t listen to your heart which is hammering against your ribcage. But the emotions are already running high and you can’t possibly focus on anything else. He’s like a lifeline to you.

And God, you want him to put those calloused hands on your skin and take you to bed. But that’s not something to think about in a place of God. On the day of someone else’s wedding. Except that you can’t think of anyone else, and his proximity isn’t making the situation any better for you.

Another blush threatens to take over your features. “Oh, you’re a lawyer?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I have a firm. Nelson, Murdock & Page.”

“Here in New York?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, yeah. Me and my associates just reopened our doors to the public after a rough year.”

“Oh, that’s...cool. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you. And what do you do, if I may ask?”

His interest takes you off guard, but you don’t hesitate to answer his question. You tell him your profession, and how you met the bride, and he listens without another word. No man has ever paid you this much attention before.

Though Janet meant it when she said that you will have to start walking in exactly five minutes, not a second longer. She passed by everyone, handing out bouquets. Green with hints of red and gold. It fits the theme. They’re beautiful, but the flowers within the bouquet become a problem when she hands you your own set. 

“Janet,” you stop her from leaving. “I can’t take these.”

“The fuck you can’t,” she retorts. 

“Seriously, I can’t. I’m allergic to Jasmines. I’ll sneeze.”

She glares at you. “Then fucking hold it.”

There is no arguing with her, and she passes by you to continue putting everyone in their places. You stare down at the bouquet, your nose already starting to itch. The smell alone is enough to make you nauseous.

To your surprise, Matt reaches for the flowers. “May I?” he asks, but he has already grabbed a hold of them.

“Sure,” you answer, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Hold this.” He guides the top of his cane into your hand.

His fingers feel along the red ribbon. He takes a whiff. There are so many scents that would be overwhelming even to someone without heightened senses due to a lacking fifth one, so you’re even more surprised when he finds the Jasmines without a struggle. He traces the petals just to make sure, and he quickly pulls the flowers out of the bouquet, tightening the ribbon around the now smaller girth in the process.

Tossing them behind one of the pillars in the corridor, he hands them back to you. “Here,” he murmurs. “For you.”

Words elude you. 

“Are you allergic to anything else?” The question is valid, considering you’re still not making a move to take the bouquet from him. 

You exhale a shaky breath, reaching for the flowers, and answer without missing another beat, “Weddings.”

That elicits a giggle from him. The sound is enough to make your heart melt. Does he know what he’s doing to you?

Matt opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of heels clicking against the marble floors stops you both dead in your tracks.

Your entire body recoils when the bride’s voice rings out, echoing, “Who the fuck mismatched my bridesmaids?”

A hand rests on your bicep, and you don’t even have to look down to know that it is Matt’s. He’s the only one standing to your right, anyway. He squeezes as though to let you know that you won’t lose your head, but you’re not so sure now that your college roommate is glaring at you in a white dress that reminds you of a pastry, and her eyes are full of fury. He can’t see it, but he would cower in fear if he did.

Thankfully, Janet pulls her aside, explaining the situation to her. 

“She what?!” she screeches. “On my wedding day? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, because car accidents respect timing when it comes to special occasions,” Janet counters.

You snort. Matt beside you digs his teeth into his bottom lip, but even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Oh, snap,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Shots have been fired,” he says.

“I think we’re witnessing a double homicide.”

“I’m not a very credible witness. I can only describe how it sounded, unfortunately.”

Your snort turns into a laugh. The bride’s head snaps around, and you go quiet. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“If she decides to throw a punch at your pretty face,” Matt’s breath tickles your ear, “I can be your attorney and sue her ass.”

This time, you’re conscious enough to slap a hand in front of your mouth to stifle your reaction. “How do you know I’m pretty?” you whisper back between little giggles.

He shrugs with a smirk of his own. “I just know.”

He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you have no choice but to submit.

Janet manages to bring some calm back to her friend eventually, and then it’s showtime. Right on the second, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle, and you have never been happier about a strict schedule and someone adamant about keeping that schedule for the sake of all of your lives.

Your roommate has always been a very dominant personality, so you’re aware of the things she can do when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

An 80s pop ballad begins to play. You make sure to match your pace to everyone else but also make sure that you’re not running away from your partner.

You may have been a mismatched bridesmaid, but you can’t complain about the company. 

Against all odds, the service is beyond beautiful. It’s not often you get to stand so close when two people who seem to truly love each other make a vow to be there for each other for the rest of their lives. You can’t help but shed a tear. They complement each other perfectly. Is that ever in the cards for you? Will you ever be able to have what they have? Or will you always feel like you’re not worthy of this kind of unconditional love and endless devotion—of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with you?

You look over at Matt. The hint of a cross necklace is starting to peek out underneath his dress shirt. Of course, he’s Catholic. 

He carries himself with such a grace that puts everyone else in this room to shame. Does he know that you’re staring at him? You hope not.

After the ceremony, you lose sight of Matt in the masses. He doesn’t owe you a goodbye, but you still feel a little disappointed when you return to the dressing room and finally peel the satin dress off of your very sweaty skin. 

At the party afterward, he’s still nowhere to be found. You give up. Not that you want to spend the evening with him anyway, but you kind of do. You drown your sorrows in a glass of vodka cranberry and a bowl of olives. They taste like rotten meat, but there are too many people by the buffet for your liking. The last thing you want to do is mingle and get asked stupid questions by people you don’t even know. So, you stay back, and you watch from afar as everyone is having the time of their lives not so far away from you, but far enough for you to breathe.

“And here I thought weddings were supposed to be a joyous occasion,” Matt pipes up beside you, and you twirl around in your chair to face him with wide eyes.

You didn’t expect to see him back here. “Hi!” you exclaim. “What’re you—I thought you left.”

“Nah,” he says. “I just had to take care of some things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

He smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked.”

Folding his cane, Matt lowers himself down on one of the chairs beside you and orders himself a beer with the bartender. “Let’s just say that I have an important court case coming up and I had to make a call.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds a lot more exciting than my life, to be honest.”

“You are sulking at a wedding. Thinking about an ex?”

“More like life in general.”

“Ah, yes, the eternal fear of dying alone.” He raises his bottle to yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

A laugh escapes you. “That was cynical,” you say.

“And you’re not?”

He beats you at your own damn game, and he finally gets that smile he has been vying for. 

“Are you smiling?” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Maybe.” But the smile is audible in your voice, giving you away.

Matt smirks, nodding his head. “Good girl.” 

The sharp vodka runs down the wrong pipe. You cough. Did he just—

He did.

He pats your back, and his hand lingers a lot longer than it should. He looks so smug. Pleased with himself. That part of him is stupidly attractive to you, even though you would usually hate such cockiness in any other man. But Matt isn’t like any other man.

You apologize for your reaction, but he should be the one apologizing to you for throwing you off your game. What is he doing? You can’t read him. You wish you could because that would make this so much easier, but that’s probably the point. He wants to tease you. He wants to mess with your head. He’s a dick. A fucking attractive dick that could tell you to do just about anything and you in your flustered state would go along with it without hesitations. That’s the kind of control he has over you, and you just met. It feels like a twisted form of destiny, but you can’t quite believe it. Yet.

“Do you always do that?” you dare to ask.

He frowns. “Do what?”

“Flirt with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests?”

A playful smirk plays on his lips.  

“It’s been known to happen,” says Matt.

You poke your tongue against the soft tissue of your cheek. “Cheeky,” you murmur.

“That’s also been known to happen.”

“What, being cheeky with—”

“—with women who were forced to be bridesmaids even though they were only supposed to be guests? Yes.” He’s catching on quickly.

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, that.”

“I do have to say though,” he adds, and for a second you think he might ruin the joke instead of playing it out further, but Matt is full of surprises, “Out of all the mismatched bridesmaids I’ve met in my thirty-something years of, um, living, you’re my favorite so far.”

With your hand, you start fanning your face rather dramatically. “I feel honored,” you say. 

Again, he chuckles. “You should be.”

“Why, because you’re so irresistible?”

“I was going to say that I don’t like a lot of people because, you know, they’re dicks, but that works too.”

“Wow.” You take another sip. The liquor burns its way down your sore esophagus. “You have balls, man.”

“Is that a problem?” he counters with a question.

The answer comes naturally. “No,” you say. “I like it.”

“Good.” Hearing you clink the ice cubes against your empty glass by swirling it around, Matt concludes that you need a refill. “Can I get you another drink?” he asks.

The question sounds so innocent, but the look on his face renders you speechless. His hand inches dangerously close to yours on the counter, his knee brushing yours, and the heat shoots straight to your neglected cunt. 

Fuck this.

“You could do that, or we could skip that part and just…you know.”

One brush of your hand against his thigh, that’s all it takes for him to know. 

Pushing you through the door to his apartment a few minutes later, his lips are on you. The door falls shut with a loud bang, and he presses you against the wall of his hallway. 

His lips feel like a silky cloud of lewdness. The way he kisses you is utterly erotic. Your lips part in a delicious moan that he swallows with a grunt of his own. He swallows it all, shoving his tongue into the tight confines of your mouth, and exploring every inch he can reach. He tastes you. He consumes you. 

His hands desperately search for an ounce of bare skin. He’s tugging at your clothes, sliding and tearing them aside. Once his fingers finally brush over the bare skin of your stomach, he melts. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Your leg hooks around his waist. You can’t wait. He has ignited a fire within you that no one has been able to light before. He’s touching you with a precision that puts your former lovers to shame. He’s paying attention to your every breath and heartbeat, and with every touch, he asks, “May I?” 

You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Once he has successfully removed the bottom half of your clothes, he falls to his knees. He is a sight to behold. The disarray of colors that shines into his apartment illuminates his face, bathing it in a selection of hues that bring out his best features. 

Matt has yet to take off his glasses, and you take the opportunity to tear them away from his face. You’re gentle though. You ask him, “May I?” mirror the question he has been asking you throughout the night, and after a thick swallow, he nods.

You caress his cheek as you remove his glasses, and when you finally see his hazel eyes in all of their glory, you have to bow down to capture his lips in a soft kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper. “So fucking beautiful, Matt.”

He whimpers. You could have sworn to have imagined it, but when you stroke his cheek with such a gentleness it almost makes him recoil in anguish, you know that you didn’t imagine the sound from his lips. You kiss it away. You kiss all of his insecurities away. You want him to feel as good as he is making you feel. You don’t know him, but you want to get to know him, and if he’s ready to surrender himself to you, you are more than ready to do the same for him. He can feel that with every brush of your fingertips and every kiss you deliver to his plump lips that taste like heaven and hell in itself.

Your words don’t leave him cold. His cock is aching in his pants—you take note of his impressionable size, which only makes you more excited for what’s to come—but he refuses to take it out. Not until you’re fully satisfied. To be honest, you could come just from staring at him on his knees in front of you, looking like he would lay the world to your feet and kill everyone who has ever dared to hurt you, but that is not enough for him. 

He needs the experience. Feeling your skin, tasting you, and breathing in all facets of your natural scent mixed with the artificial one from your shampoo. He can’t get enough of it. Of you. Of everything about and within you. He’s as attracted to your body as he is consumed by your soul. You’ve got him in a deadlock, but he would never complain about that.

You gasp when Matt grabs your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. Your panties are gone within seconds, torn on the floor somewhere. You’re completely bare to him. 

You want to warn him that you didn’t shave, but he doesn’t care. 

Before you know it, he has flattened his tongue against your pussy, and he licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, reaching for support on the wall behind you.

He flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, testing the waters before he sucks it into his mouth. 

His grip on your thigh becomes bruising. Matt eats you out like he has been starving for years and you are his first and last meal. He sucks on your clit, and he fucks you with his tongue. Your pussy is the altar he worships at. Your arousal is his holy water. He dives deeper and deeper into the wetness between your thighs, and he moans loudly when you pull at his hair.

“Fuck, Matt–” You’re clawing at whatever you can find. It feels so good. You’re higher than you have ever been.

The sound of his mouth working your slick folds toward eternal bliss is obscene and utterly sinful. His stubble scratches against your inner thighs. The pain grounds you in the here and now, making you focus on the tidal wave that is about to crash into you and tear you to shreds. 

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm takes over, and it takes you into another dimension. You come with a shout of his name. It’s nothing short of explosive. The orgasm drags on through his mouth on your clit, relentlessly sucking until the nerves jump, and you’re begging him to stop. 

His face glistens. With every kiss up your body, Matt marks you. By the time he has reached your quivering lips, he still tastes like you.

“You did so well,” he whispers. “Such a good girl for me.”

You exhale. Without his shoulders to hold onto, you would probably lose your footing. “You’re crazy,” is all you can say. 

He smirks. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“Regret coming home with me?”

“Absolutely not.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He lifts you with ease. “Then I’m going to make it worth your while.”

And when your back hits the soft mattress and silk sheets of his bed, you don’t doubt that he is going to make good on his promise. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[iamsherlocked1479]

Hey could you do a smut where virgin reader is pretty looking and Sherlock feels a little smitten. But she has lot's of admirers of her age so Sherlock thinks he doesnt have chance. but they ends up in a fucking situation. I don't know if that makes sense.

Hold it together

Description: Pretty much what the request is Sherloc is mildly obsessed with you and becomes tired of watchng men talking to you just becuse your pretty and well you? you spend your days fantasising about sherlock taking your V-card and welll, he's an intelligent man ;) no use of y/n that i can rember

Word count: 3.3k words

Warnings: 18+ Smut so much smut. Losing virginity so hurts for a little bit.

That was guy number seven, Sherlock had only partly been paying attention to the party around him. He was too busy watching you, you were his soul focus. He wanted to make sure you were okay, it was John and Marys wedding and you were a bridesmaid. And as 

Janine had made him aware that it was tradition for a bridesmaid to sleep with a groomsman. He wasn’t going to let that happen to you, he had closely analysed each one of them, none of them were a good match for you. You were the main attraction of the evening besides the newlyweds, he had watched the way most of the singles and some of the taken men watched as you floated past them, well maybe not literally floated but to him you did. He hated the way he was so, how would he put it, human around you. He hated how he lingered slightly closer to you as he explained anything the way you scent intoxicated his mind breaking down any walls he built. He hated the way he always made sure he was awake to remind Mrs hudson to bring up tea in the morning so you would maybe stop and talk with him. He loved your little talks, he made it his mission that even if he could make you smile in the slightest it would pull at his heart causing his brain to fuzz as he watched your eyes brighten. 

Yet he could never understand why he couldn’t just tell you, part of him knew Mycroft would torture him if he found out about his childish crush, and then there was the age gap. There was a good twelve years between you, he wondered if that would put you off, if you thought he wouldn’t be able to keep up with a young thing like you. But he’d beg to differ, he would often find himself sleepless at night, tossing and turning ignoring the needs of his cock, before eventually giving in and toying with himself until he came moaning your name imaging all the positions he could make you cum in. He wondered how you liked it, if you would fight to be in control, pinning him down and riding him, or if you would lay there wanting him to take control. Either way he would just want to please you, he would make you cum until you couldn’t anymore. God if his brother could know what he thought of you. “Get it together he thought.” He looked over at you again leaning against the bar laughing with what was it? Gavin? The officer. He couldn’t remember and he didn’t really care. Until he did, he watched with jealousy as Leatrades arm reached out and touched your own as you laughed. He turned green clutching his glass, he wanted the way you pulled back slightly, he wasn’t going to let yet another man try his way with you.

“Honestly, you should come to the next one.” Gregg laughed, emptying his fifth drink.

“I’ll have to think about it.” You laugh while taking another nervous drink, Greg wasn’t exactly an unattractive man but he was recently divorced and very obviously emotional at the moment and you did not want to get caught up in that. And even if you did, you would have no idea how to even begin, at the ripe age of twenty four you had only managed to ever get to third base. Not that you didn’t want to, it's just you were aware of your looks, you weren’t big headed but as you’d been reminded by multiple people this evening you were pretty and you weren't about to become some guys trophy or bragging rights. And anyways how could you ever make it past third base if you wanted him. 

That's right your curly haired, insanely attractive, thirty six year old, high functioning sociopath, detective of a roommate. Who happened to be making his way over to you right now, yup your eyes don’t deceive you, he was zig zagging his way through the crowds with his eyes focused on you.

“So what do you say? Would you want to come to the next office gathering?” Greg still persisted handing you another glass of champagne.

“I uhh” yup you did it again, you completely blocked out the rest of the world over your attraction to an older man. “I’m sorry if I’ve led you on here Greg, i uhh.” You froze, how would you politely tell him to back off.

“Come on Gavn, can you go fund your rebound somewhere else please.” Sherlocks hand was firmly placed on Gregs shoulder.

“It's uh greg, you should know that by now.” Greg muttered before turning to you. “I’m sorry.” He smiled awkwardly and huffed as he walked away. 

“Thank you.” you sighed “I didn’t want to upset him.” You joked 

“Why not, it's not your ego that will be damaged.” He laughed 

“Oh Sherlock there you are dear.” Mrs hudson, your landlady, pulled on sherlocks arm intruding him to a gaggle of her friends who all cooed at the adorable detective they had seen on their Tv screens.

“He isn’t as tall as he looks on the telly.” One of them cackled. You watched as his body stiffened, he wasn’t enjoying this party at all, first he was losing his best friend and now he was being paraded around like a prized pony. You were becoming sick of the constant attempts so you did what any saviour would and returned the favour.

“Sherlock, do you fancy a cigarette, my treat as seen as you prevented a murder today.” Your hand gripped firmly on his hand pulling him away from the women. 

His body hummed at your touch, his wrist burned and his head fuzzed. He could feel his collar tightening and breathing staggering. Hold it together, he thought, don't be a child. “Silly boy brother, holding hands are we now.” Mycroft taunted his mind.

“Had to save you, I saw you roll your eyes at least three times.” You say as you both leaned against the cold brick wall, the venue was nice you’d admit and the countryside highlighted the night sky perfectly.

“You like stars?” He asked, watching you look up.

“I only admire how far away they are from people.” You laugh, you pull out a single cigarette from your purse and Sherlock hands you a lighter. “You know for someone who is supposed to be quitting smoking you sure do come prepared.” You say with one brow raised

“Some cases may require a lighter.” He says allowing you to take the first drag.

“Thanks for helping me back there, I wasn’t sure how to solve that problem.” Your thighs tightened as he leant against the wall exhaling a large drag of smoke, your tightened together. “Hold it together” you thought, you looked away, god you’re acting like a teenager.

“Personally I believe you were doing great, a few more minutes and i reckon you and him would have been on the dance floor.” He laugh sarcastically 

“Believe me you would not want to see that.” You took the cigarette from his hand, grazing his fingers with your own, it didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Im sure you’d do fine.” He tilted his head witb a smile

“Oh really, are you an expert?” You laughed 

“You don’t believe me?” He looked almost offended as he pushed himself off the wall. “I’ll show you.” 

“Go on then.” You encouraged him by crossing your arms together. He stepped in front of you and lifted his arms as if he was holding someone and did a perfect pirouette or as perfect as the gravel would allow. “Okay then i admit that was pretty good.” You laugh, he brushes off his jacket and takes the cigarette from your hand. 

“And now you.” He nodded

“You’re not serious. Are you?” You choke a little on your laughter 

“Am i ever one for fooling around?” Well shit, he was right. He took the last drag of the cigarette and threw it to the ground. “It’s easy, straight back, lift one leg and spin.” He gestured his hands outwards encouraged you to do it

“Fine but only because it's you.” You rolled your eyes. Your attempt was far from perfect, you held out your arms and tutted before spinning and tumbling, these dam shoes, you wanted to wear converse. You stumbled and Sherlock reached forward and pulled you into his broad chest. “See i told you. Not a dancer.”

“I can help then.” He smiled, pulling your arms up into the correct position. “You have to ease into it.” He pushed himself closer and your hearts touched, he began slow as you spun “keep your eyes onto your partner and then-“ you both performed and amature pirouetted before stopping, you stopped still clinging to his chest. “You see.” He gulped, rather loudly. “ all you need is the perfect partner.” You could both feel the force pulling you closer, his eyes were fixed on your lips. You leaned in and locked, he tasted like smoke and mild hints of champagne, it was sweet, your hand clung to his coat, you moaned into his mouth as his tongue crossed with yours. You pulled away to take a breath.

“Sorry uh something just came over me.” You laugh

“I'm not complaining. I’ve actually been thinking about that for a while.” He still held you close, he had you finally and he wasn’t about to let you go. He leaned in again, he kissed you and ran his hands down your body settling one on you ass, you flinched slightly.

“Sorry.” You blushed

“No, it's fine.” 

“Yeah I'm not really used to that.”

“What do you mean?” He asked

“Well, I’m a virgin. I never really got round to all that.” 

“That's okay sweetheart, I'm not going to judge.” His hand stroked your cheek. Hus words gave you a sense of boldness

“But, maybe we could change that.” You hand made it way through its curls 

“Be careful sweetheart, are you sure.”

“Positive.” You smiled kissing him again leaving a small bite on his lower lip

“Great” he pulled your hand through the doors towards the stairs. “Room?” He asked 

“304” you replied, taking the lead. It's not that you were desperate, but you’d been thinking about him in this way since the day you moved in, your stomach knotted and your core began to heat up in anticipation. You practically barged open the door of your room and he was on you in an instant pulling down your dress as you struggled with the buttons of his suit. 

You pulled his shirt apart revealing the olive skin of his chest, his scent intoxicated you. You ran your hand across his chest trembling at the intensity of his heart beat. 

Your hand burned his chest, his cock grew wild but he’d have to be patient. It was your first time and he wanted to make sure you’d remember it. He laid you down slowly tracing his lips down your neck and inbetween the crevice of your breast. Your soft moan encouraged him to go lower down your stomach twirling your hardened nipples with his fingers.

Your breath hitched as his fingers glided over your soaked core, he could feel your wetness through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Don't be nervous, i’ll be gentle. Need to get you ready. Tell me what you want sweetheart.” His eyes stayed locked on yours, you hadn’t seen this side if him before he was still the same determined sherlock holmes but part of him looked desperate, like he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

“You, I want you. Your hands, your body please.” You begged gasping slightly at the sensation of his finger pressing against your panties.

“Okay baby. Just breathe, it will feel good I promise.” He started by pulling down your underwear and livking his finger before sliding it through your folds, he smiled at the motion of your legs stiffening. He spread them apart with his free hand and then used his dextrose fingers to tap at your bundle of nerves. He took his other hand and slowly edged two fingers into you curling slightly to hit that perfect point. “Fuck you’re so tight, gotta loosen you up.”  He fucked you gently with his fingers looking at you occasionally, making sure what he was doing was right.

“Fuck- i, i wont be able to hold it much longer Sher-fuck.” Your head pushed back into the mattress and your back arched as he added another finger slightly picking up his pace. Your walls trembled as he brought you to your climax, it felt as if it burned all your nerve endings, a feeling you’d never be able to reach on your own. You winced slightly at the overstimulation of him pulling out his fingers and licking them clean.

“I always knew you’d taste sweet.” He chuckled and sat back on his knees relishing in the state he had left you toying with his uncomfortable hardness. You noticed and brought yourself to his lips again kissing him as you unbuckled his belt. It unked away and you discarded it somewhere in the room and dropped his trousers. Your hand dipped beneath the waistline of his boxers and he released a small sigh. You looked up at him with mildly worried eyes, he was so big, so thick. “Are you sure you know how to handle it?- shit!” His cockyness was soon displaced with his head falling backwards at the sensation of your lips around his cock. You swallowed as much as you could, trying to get used to his size. You bobbed your head up and down moaning as his hand came to rest in your hair, pushing your head gently further down. You swirled your tongue around his base as you swallowed him down. He pulled you off sighing at the sight of a line of spit connecting your mouth to his cock. “You gonna let me fuck that pretty little mouth of yours sweetheart?” He pushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you nodded. “Tell me how much you want it.” He said jerking himself 

“Fuck- i want it so bad, want you to fuck my mouth make me gag please.” You batted his hand away and took him in both your hands, he hissed at the sensation then edged you open your mouth. You stuck out your tongue allowing him to slide his tip across it. He pushed In further, slowly allowing him to get used to his size, you gagged and he wiped a tear that slid down your eye and slowly began thrusting his hips gently into your delicate mouth.  

“God, wanted this so long. Been watching you, you looked so good tonight. Hated watching other guys trying their luck. Gavin couldn’t do this to you.”

“Mh-Greg” you corrected him barely being audible by his size. He grunted and pushed harder.

“Don’t correct me, this is your first time, don’t wanna be too rough yet- shit.” He cursed as your hands snaked around his balls massaging them. “God gonna make me cum- fuck you wanna taste me?” Sherlocks pase became sloppy he held on waiting for you to nod and when he did the salty tastes of his thick ropes spewed into your throat. You hummed, gulping down every last drop. He pulled out, his stray loose curls sticking to his sweaty head. You leaned backwards smiling at the state he was in.

“Guess I'll never make it past base three.” You laughed a little disappointed. His eyes opened, they looked different, a smug smirk appeared on his face and his eyes grew darker.

“You think i'm done? Honey there's alot for you to learn.” He pushed you into the mattress and spread your legs with his knee, his hand came to your pussy and slid easily through your folds. “Sweetheart you got this wet just from sucking me off. You gonna let me fuck that cute little pussy of yours?” He smiled watching your eyes roll back

“Please Sherlock, I need you.” You looked up watching as he examined your body.

“Okay honey, gonna take this nice and slow, ease you into it.” He held his cock at your entrance sliding it through your folds. “If it doesn’t feel good, let me know and I'll stop.” He entered you slowly, you winced slightly as he entered, your walls stretching and getting used to his size and then he paused for a moment. “How's that feel? You feel good.”

“Its good, its just a new feeling. But it feels good. Can you move?” You ask with puppy dog eyes he laughs slightly and slowly thrusts his hips. It's a new feeling for you, the pain had melted away and was turning into pleasure. Your walls opened letting him in further, his pace was gentle. You could tell he was holding back, he didn’t want to hurt you or push you further than you could go. You hand found his cheek and his eyes locked with yours. “Go faster, show me how you want to make me feel good. I want you- I need you.”

“Are you sure, if it gets too much, tell me.” He kissed you again picking up the pace- now this was good the friction he pushed into your clit only added to the pleasure it didn’t hurt, it was great. He went in all the way to the hilt scraping his tip against your g-spot starting a chain reaction through your body.

“Fuck- thats- shit thats great.” Your eyes rolled back and his teeth nibbled at your neck leaving a small purple mark. The bed began to creak with his pace the sound of skin on skin adding to the room's heat and smell of sex. He rutted into you cursing and moaning your name, his hand found your clit flicking it with each thrust, watching as your legs widened giving him more space to fill. He pulled you closer, lifting up your hips. “Fuck that feels great, you moan.” 

“Does it? Here, try this.” He grabbed a pillow and put it under your lower back angling you just right, allowing him to reach your g-spot with ease. 

“Fuck- ye. Thats it fuck im gonna- shit i-!” You couldn’t speak, your orgasm pushed all the air from your lungs, your muscles twitched causing your hips to seize. He kept fucking you through your high chasing his own orgasm. 

“Fuck your so tight feels so good.” He moaned, biting your neck again, moaning as you tugged on his hair. His pace became staggered and he began to pull you in closer you knew he was close

“Fuck need your cum in me. It's okay, I'm on the pill. Shit need it. So bad.” You cried out, it's like he was waiting for you to say it, he finished with one last thrust holding you as close as possible. your walls were coated in his thick white ropes. He stayed in you a while peppering your face with light kisses “you where so good, fuck never had anyone like you.” He winced as he pulled out, the over stimulation getting the better of him. 

“Anyone in here? They’re about to cut the cake!” A voice came from the door along with loud hard knocks.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” You called out looking at sherlock. “I wish we could stay here forever.” You rolled onto him, resting you chest on his as you played with his curls.

“Then why don’t we?” He smiled along with a cheeky slap of your ass.

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A/N: hey guys sorry for my recent abscence work has been a factor in this issue the next chapter of thats not how I'd do it is commng probably soon, definately not disapointed that i can't do weekly uploads :( another thing is, something is comming that Im currently writing a preveiw for and i can't wait to share it. HOPE YOU ENJOYED SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE

[writing-wh0re]

My requests are open for the following prompts.

♥ Characters:

♥ Fred and George Weasley and Draco Malfoy

♥ Eddie Munson and Billy Hargrove

♥ Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji, Sukuna and Choso.

♥ Kakashi Hatake

♥ Levi Ackerman, Reiner Bruan, Jean Kirstein

♥ Tengen Uzui

♥ Ken 'Draken' Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Takashi Mitsuya, Seishu Inui

♥ Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers and Loki

♥ Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans and Henry Cavill and Harry Styles

Jealousy text prompts:

“Do they not know that we’re together?” 

“You’re stupid if you think they just want to be friends.” 

“What the fuck is a work husband?”

“If they touch you again, I’ll break their fucking hands” 

Smutty text prompts: 

“Tell me what you want, I can’t read your mind.” 

“You look better on your knees.” 

“Do that one more time and I’ll fuck you right here in front of everyone.” 

“I’m marking you as mine.” 

Situation Prompts:

Person A complains about not having sex for over a year, feeling like masturbating is boring and can’t get the same release. Person B offers to help them through the situation with a no strings attached proposition. 

Person A needs a date to their sister's wedding, someone who can impress their family and isn’t a drag. Person B is down for free alcohol and a trip away for the weekend. Person A’s ex is a groomsman who can’t keep their mouth shut and Person B does more than expected. 

Person A and Person B star in the latest Hollywood movie. Person B first initiated friends with benefits while filming, Person A needed stress relief. Person B shows up to the red carpet premiere with Person C hanging off Person B’s arm. 

Person A started stripping to earn quick money, Person B was a CEO with an unlimited credit card. Person B also had an opening within his company. 

AU Prompts:

Best Friends Dad / Dad’s Best Friend 

Bodyguard 

Mafia Boss 

Professor

Tagging a few mutuals: @skarlettmikaelson @horrorxweasley @psychedelic-ink @zagreusdaughter @b00kw0rmsworld @leydileyla @themoonis-beautiful-tonight @mathletemadison

[thezombieprostitute]

Photos

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty​ this is my first entry for the Bingo card combining “jealousy” and “bridesmaid”. Tall reader (no other physical descriptors). Possible Triggers/Warnings: mentions of wedding stress, bridezillas, overbearing mothers.

“Jake, you’ve got to stop pouting. You knew you wouldn’t be one of the groomsmen when you agreed to this.”

“I’m not pouting,” Jake replied curtly. “You just look so beautiful in that dress and he’s the one that’s gonna be in all the photos with you.”

“So, you’re jealous that Rogers is going to be in a few photos with me,” you ask incredulously.

He nods as he replies, “I know it’s silly but I like being in photos with you. People will look at photos from the wedding and think you and Steve were together. I have a hard enough time believing someone as wonderful as you is with me, so it just…irks me when I think of other people confirming that.”

“Jake,” you softly intoned, putting your arms around his shoulders. “There are going to be hundreds of photos taken at the wedding and reception. There’ll be maybe three or four where I’m paired with Steve. The rest of the photos that have me, will also have you. I promise.”

Jake smiled back at you, “thanks for not thinking of my jealousy as being needy or something.”

“Not at all,” you smile. “I think it’s sweet. I’ve never had someone jealous over me before. And it’s for such a sweet reason.” You lean in to kiss him and he kisses back with gentle enthusiasm. “Besides, the only reason I got paired with Rogers is because he’s the only groomsman taller than me and the Mother-of-the-Bride is insistent that if any bridesmaid is taller than the groomsman it’ll ‘ruin the photos’ or something like that.”

“Is she really that bad?”

You nod, “yeah, she’s a real bridezilla. So much so Bucky and Nat have contemplated eloping so that they can actually have a happy wedding.”

“Ouch,” Jake cringed. “You know, if they do elope, we don’t have to spend hours with a bunch of people we barely know and I don’t have to worry about the photos…”

You stare into his beautiful blue eyes and scold, “Jake, no. They’ve got enough stress to deal with and they’ve already put a lot of money into this wedding. The best thing we can do for them is to not add to their problems and, maybe, try to keep Nat’s mom from going too ballistic.”

“Okay, okay. They’re your friends, you want to support them, so I want to support them as well.”

“You’re such a great boyfriend,” you say as you give him several small kisses. “Did you know that?”

“So you tell me,” he smiles, eagerly returning the kisses. “We should get some rest, I suppose. Gotta be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

The next morning you’re not woken up by your alarm, but rather your phone continuously buzzing. You shouldn’t be surprised, it’s the day of the wedding so the chat group is likely going to be super active. You’re definitely not surprised that all but a few of the notifications are from Nat’s mom. What does surprise you is the first notification from Nat, a text saying “got married last night. Had a blast! Here’s a link to the photos!” You smile from ear to ear and type out, “congrats! Have a happy honeymoon!” and quickly mute your phone and cuddle up to Jake.

“What was all that about,” he asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“Let’s just say, you and I can now spend all day in bed together. Photos optional.”

[double-dare-designs]

Bow Tie Groomsman Card

Instant Download is Available

Personalize

https://www.zazzle.com/stylish_bowtie_groomsman_invitation-256787200849975543

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

1. Debut. First Impressions WarblerNightbird

2. Page Turner: Lord of the Manor series by DivineLady91.

3. Need Tissues: A Love Story series by life42universe

4. Unusual Occupation: Need Me To Unzip Your Files? By daffodilkurt

5. Wildcard: it Started With A Wedding by milkovichest

6. Summer Story: Along for the Rides by notarelationship (justpracticing)

7. Written for a Challenge: Stay by bowtiesandboatshoes

8. Made you laugh out loud: Sabotage by Chasingkerouac

9. Genre Don’t Normally Read: Accidentally by YoungAndIntelligent

Thank you so much for your card. See them on: a03 ~Jen

1. Debut fic: First Impressions by WarblerNightbird

Kurt and Blaine were best friends, who still hadn't met their soulmates. In this world, everyone knows when you meet your soulmate the first time you make eye contact. Your soulmate is suppose to be the most important person in the world for you, the only one who makes you feel complete. Then why did Kurt already feel that way?

~~~~~

2. Page Turner fic: Lord of the Manor series by DivineLady91.

Sorry, written in 2015 - criteria is fic between 2018-21

~~~~~

3. Fic that you needed tissues to read: A Love Story series by life42universe

All Kurt's life, he's been searching for proof that a person continues existing after death. Then, he meets a mysterious boy in a cemetery. Who is Blaine? What happened to him? How did he become so important to Kurt so quickly?

This is a story about love and timing and the kind of connection that comes around once in a lifetime.

Prepare yourself for all of the angst with a light at the end of the tunnel (metaphorically speaking).

~~~~~

4. Unusual Occupation: Need Me To Unzip Your Files? By daffodilkurt

Blaine’s usual afternoon watching porn doesn’t quite go as planned, and when he goes to get his frozen laptop fixed the universe decides to punish him even further by making the only available assistant both handsome and exactly Blaine’s type...

~~~~~

5. Wildcard: It Started With A Wedding by milkovichest

Kurt Hummel hates Sebastian Smythe, there is no doubt about that. But getting offered substantial amounts of money to play his boyfriend at a wedding for a weekend is an offer he just can’t turn down.

Which would all be fine, if it weren’t for the curly haired groomsman.

~~~~~

6. Summer Story: Along for the Rides by notarelationship (justpracticing)

AU. Blaine and Kurt get their summer romance on. Mostly fluff, awkward flirting, a side of misunderstanding and some hanky panky.

~~~~~

7. Written for a Challenge: Stay by @bowtiesandboatshoes

Written for the prompt: Kurt and Blaine’s parents are close friends, so they sort of grew up together even though Kurt is 5-10 years older than Blaine. Blaine has just graduated university and Kurt offers to let him move into his apartment until he can find something better. 2018 Klaine Fic Exchange

~~~~~

8. Fic that made you laugh out loud: Sabotage by Chasingkerouac

The NYADA Adam’s Apples know that the stiffest competition for Nationals this year will come from their very own neighbor, the NYU Vocal Effects. Kurt, a member of the Adam’s Apples, knows that the path to victory runs straight through Vocal Effects' newest musical weapon -- Blaine Anderson. Sure practice makes perfect, but sometimes a competition this important calls for a little… sabotage.

~~~~~

9. Genre Don’t Normally Read: Accidentally by YoungAndIntelligent

Kurt should not be in love with his best friend's brother. That was something he would be able to live with if it weren't for a couple of accidents. Anderberry

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav asks Astarion to participate in a game of her choosing.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 8: Questions & Commands

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.2k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Emotional Abuse, Sexual Language, Sexual Tension, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Ballads hatched into our world long ago to inspire, heal, and defeat foes. Thus, bards did learn the ways of the song to carry them through lands known and forgotten. Carrying tunes to foster in the ebb of war and love. We can bring light even to the darkest side of the moon.

— Alfira, ‘A Look into the Life of Bards’

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Once upon a time, there was a wedding. Two lovers. The joining of the year.

Held in a beautiful cathedral of worship to Lathander, where not even the minions of arch devils would bring their contracts. The brilliance of its holy requite through colorful stained glass to shine upon the newlyweds for an age.

Algos stood by the husband-to-be as a groomsman. Dark hair. Confident face. Dressed in shining gold and midnight. The shades of splendor and authority.

A swordswoman, beautiful and anxious about the night, at a table of unknowns. Dress of woven pastel blue and gold forget-me-nots.

“My lady, will you dance with me?” Algos grinned, holding out his hand.

“I would be honored, my love!” A guarded smile from her lips. “How is the wedding party going?”

The man took her hand and spun her onto the dancefloor. “Not so bad. Little trouble with the behind-the-scenes, but everything worked out. How’s the table you were seated at?”

Her hands crawled up onto the expanse of his shoulders. The tempo of the current ballad played by the wedding band, a slow romantic fairy-tale of a tune.

“They sat me with the elusive cousins,” she giggled. “However, I’m not complaining since they happen to be a delight! I wish I could sit with my handsome beau, but I love you regardless.”

Algos nuzzled the side of her head. “I love you too, birdie.”

Their peace, suddenly broken by spritely music blaring from quickened strings, requiring a more rhythmic dance.

“Here, do it like this,” Algos pressured, grabbing one of her hands in his, the other, at her waist.

Her face flushed. Clumsy feet. Self consciousness seeped in. She tried to hold herself together, praying that he would ignore her flaws in this art of movement. “I don’t want to dance like this…no, I didn’t mean it like that—I’m just feeling shy.”

There. In his vision. The glaze she had been preparing for all week in caution, knowing it could happen at any time if the circumstances were right. Another night she could have predicted with cartomancy from any deck of illustrated cards.

How could irises the color of pitch basalt, she let erode her soul with love, have such rage?

“We’re leaving.”

Ruffled. A shaking of hands to the guests at the wedding in pleasant goodbyes.

A face twisted. Heavy feet walking out of the venue with beer on his tongue.

Soft pattering taps of her shoes, following him to his hell. Biting the inside of her cheek, head bowed in shame.

Away from everyone, he yelled. No one can intervene; no one can see.

“SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOU! Broken. Is it really that hard to do what you're told?! You don’t know how to love. I refuse to believe you even care about me.”

She stared ahead. It was safer this way. Not to fully look at him. Tears fall: salty and broken. She messed up again. Will she ever get it right?

“I’m sorry about feeling awkward about dancing. Please let me expl—” she begged.

“EXPLAIN WHAT?! This gloom that you carry with you is an embarrassment! Did you even stop to think how that will make me look?! How it makes me look now?! I can’t help but think that you’ve done this on purpose, to foil my reputation.”

“But, I—you said…I do love you—” she stuttered out.

“QUIET!”

Usual tangents.

Embarrassing. Is that what she was?

Should she mention her concerns to him again about his anger? The outbursts that have scared her? The insecurity she felt. The nervousness. The eggshells she walked upon. The doubts she felt about a future with him.

She’s already endured 8 years. She could endure more.

In the middle of the night, the yelling paused.

A smothering of tears, so she can open her wept swollen eyes the next day.

Into her mind fortress created long ago she receded, sewing pockets into its walls. She wailed the incident into the opening of one before threading the seam fully closed and purging herself of the emotions.

In the morning, Algos held Tav tightly. Apologies to her lips. Apologies in her hair. “This is a part of who I am,” he reminded her.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

♫Dance upon the stars tonight, Smile and pain will fade away. Words of mine will turn to ash, When you call the last light down.

Moon reminds me of your grace, All the love I can’t repay. Rest and know that I will pray, Farewell my dear old friend.

Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace, Faith, care, all the love I can’t repay. Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace, Faith, care, all the love I can’t repay.

Dance upon the stars tonight, Smile and pain will fade away. Words of mine will turn to ash, When you call the last light down.

Moon reminds me of your grace, All the love I can’t repay. Rest and know that I will pray, Farewell my dear old friend.

Dance upon the stars tonight, Smile and pain will fade away.♫

Tav and Alfira. A duet of two bards: an elf and a tiefling. Lutes in hands. An ideal pair for a quaint harmony. They braided around their audience, draping a veil of honor and expelling the spirits of woe. Voices of mirth to rock babes to sleep and inspire fractured favorable qualities to mend.

With boots padded in unison on a final tour around the camp, they meet in the middle to sing their closing lyrics, paying reverence to an old friend.

Flowers and cheers freely tossed to the musicians as they took their bows. A few mesmerized souls with amour’s arrows in their eyes, headily sighed.

Gleefully, the women hugged each other.

“Tav, I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for all your help with the song. I feel like I can finally honor my teacher properly now.” Alfira held onto Tav for a few seconds longer before holding her at arm’s length with tears in her eyes.

“It’s the least I could do after you loaned me your extra lute.” Tav went in for another hug, patting the optimistic tiefling on the back. “Seeing mine broken to pieces on that beach was not the most pleasant of sights. It was a gift to me from my mother and one of the first lutes I’d ever owned. Many memories were attached to it. Happy and sad. A chapter I will have to close—I suppose.”

Alfira clasped the elf’s hands within her own, as if they were about to pray together. “Chapters that close for bards, eventually become tales in our songs. Perhaps one day, you will be able to tell yours when the time is right.”

Tav softened her features, a fair simper stretching upwards. “Just so. I cannot properly explain how wonderful it has been playing with another bard again. My gods! Collaborating with another musically inclined person is such an adrenaline rush!”

“I know exactly what you mean! I’ve been trying to teach the children how incredible playing music can be, but they seem preoccupied with their little thieves club at the moment.” She swung her lute around its strap to rest upon her back. “If it is alright, I may go have a drink with Lakrissa. To wind down, that is!”

The songbird curtsied, offering Alfira a good-natured bow of her head. “Off with you! Go have fun! I’ll be joining the party shortly.”

Lungs all but expired, Tav swept the blue-gray mist of her sight around the soirée that Zevlor, leader of the tiefling refugees, insisted they participate in after their defeat with the goblins. She wasn’t entirely opposed to mingling with their new allies, but given the events of the past couple of days—all the social interaction and glories of their victory—she needed to find time to replenish her energy.

Though, such proclivities to her personal edicts would have to wait. Because there were wayward missives being delivered into her thoughts, bathed in the scent of rosemary, bergamot, and aged brandy like a secret admirer on the cusp of developing into something more.

With the wildflowers thrown at her feet during her curtain call, she tucked a small handful into her garter, briefly wondering if Astarion had watched her performance with Alfira. Did he like the song? What were his thoughts about the lyrics? Or did he notice the fingerpicking during the chorus she had practiced beforehand?

To him she gives herself in offering. The snares of his raucous life. She humbly prays to the host of his body to thrust her into his soul. Ruin her world and all that remains. Amen.

In fact, she pondered if he even liked her at all or if he was merely tolerating her. He never made mention of finding any part of her personality particularly endearing to be around, instead resorting to backhanded comments at his leisure. At times, it seemed only the blood she willingly offered to him thrilled any sense he had concerning the bard.

Oghma’s taint, why did she fucking care?! Astarion could be an absolutely insufferable prick! Wroughting seeds of his own subterfuge and cruelty when she thought he was beginning to show moments of clemency or kindness.

When they found the prisons shortly after their intentional bloodshed with the goblinoids, she squabbled with him over his insistence on urging her to commend the shite goblin children for throwing rocks at the druid Halsin’s bear form because he wanted to “see the show.”

After she denied the lashings from Abdirak, a servant of the goddess Loviatar, he slighted her with his typical lively taunt.

*****

”Something that has more drollness than all these wretched creatures sputtering on about this True Soul nonsense, and you just ‘pass on it’? I truly thought you would have provided us with a more inspiring performance other than that singing you do all the time,” Astarion provoked with a dramatic tilt of his voice.

Tav walked up to the vampire, standing chest to chest with her chin pointed upwards. She had zero tolerance for the knife of his words. “I didn’t hear you complaining when you told me to sing for you in your tent the other night. Besides, why would I subject my body to public humiliation? This isn’t just a bedroom kink for god's sake!”

“My sweet ballad babe, anger really does look cute on you.” His fingers moved to fix the length of her skewed bangs, picking up tiny bouquets of her strands individually. “You speak as if your body is a temple that lovers will continue to care about during and after your moments of ecstasy. What a very naive statement.”

The bard's tone changed from thorny indignation, to a lower frequency of velvet. Her heated palm wrapped around his icy wrist, bringing it to rest against the upper portion of her chest. “Maybe they will; maybe they won't. But, I try my damnedest to avoid the latter. I'm unsure what experiences you've had, but I've never engaged in any type of intimacy with a man I didn’t care about in some way. That includes you.”

*****

After Tav’s earnest reply, Astarion stood skulking for nearly the rest of their mission, staring at her from afar. Petulance? That was probably part of it. A crucifixion he was reliving by instinct behind the splendor of his newly formed kingdom of freedom.

Curious, curious, curious though.

He tested them—tested her—with his unfavorable characteristics unveiling themselves as the days passed. Yet, Tav noticed when she presented him with challenges to his unethical morals over his comments or suggestions flung from the pantheon of his pearlescent lips, he never acted on them by his own accord. Nor did he bring up such interjections again, naturally acquiescing quietly to the majority vote.

Why all this senselessness? Fear? Anger? Did he truly possess that level of evilness deep down? Or was the sun inside of him blocked by hundreds of black-eyed fiends biting at his extremities each time he reached out to try and absorb the light?

The elements in the tapestry of him that flickered of haunted briars regarded in his gaze, she would, at times, be able to minimally trim away to witness a few ticks of goodness bubbling up out of his blighted soul. But, Astarion was at the mercy of his ghosts and Tav understood all too easily that sometimes the victim can have remorseless tendencies from a vicious cycle of learned behavior.

”A gentle hand.” But, what else would it take?

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The sky was empty, save for the lowly honied crescent moon.

Tav carouseled around the gathering, checking in with the guests and her companions. Sips of wine flowing between buzzed lips, sweetening tongues with compulsions of truths and flirtatious verses. The bard gathered her skirts, in her silence and finesse of movements, flashing propositioning suitors a modest smile of rejection as they sacrificed themselves to her in promises of alighting her skin to cinders with their touch.

Oh, but, it wasn’t their balm she desired as their eyes begged her to drop her silken stockings down, a fantasy of rubbing them between their fingertips as they pecked her calves. It was the chilled path of ashes leading to the thief in the night of the man whose lips felt like years of devotion and stole her sanity during her prayers.

Astarion remained by his tent for a good portion of the evening, impressing the tieflings by throwing his daggers into the practice dummy nearby. Tav surveyed him with a glance every so often, catching him using his normal grand hand gestures as he spoke. Once, when she looked over towards where he stood, a tiefling man had placed a hand on the vampire’s arm, dragging a finger sensuously up and down his sleeve. Astarion patted the man’s hand and nudged his chin in her direction, softening his stare. Her face heated up as she turned away, unsure of what the spawn had said to him.

There was warmth that had long spread throughout Tav’s body and her mind was drumming in happiness from the mead. She could not stop the rush she felt to see Astarion, armed as she was with a plan to unfurl some of their vexations and inner turmoil that teetered on the ridge they kept stepping onto. Half crossed with his behavior; half wanting this man in her company.

Mirror in his hand, she found him.

Astarion’s temporary quarters were the furthest away, set up near the opening to the forest behind them. An intentional tact to listen for enemies or animals scurrying about he told her. A prelude to feed on their blood.

He held up an ornate hand mirror in silver filigree to his face, most of the glass cracked. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then stuck his index finger to pull back his cheek. One of his fangs, a white icy pick glistening from the light of a lit torch in camp, peeked out. She knew he was admiring absolutely nothing at all—since vampires no longer held a reflection once they became undead—still, she wondered if he knew what he looked like anymore.

“Are yo—“ she tried to interrupt as a person suddenly appeared in front of her.

Guex. The tiefling with swept back blonde hair and strawberry skin. A warrior that Tav had met earlier in the Hollow of the grove. Swords collided in the bright sun as she showed him how to properly strike his blade at a target during midday.

“Would you care to dance, my lady?”

Astarion caustically clucked his tongue.

Willing her body not to freeze from a painful memory, she put on a prepared face. She beamed as he bowed, balling her hand up near her mouth joyfully. “Guex, there is no need for the formalities. However, I am afraid I am not one for dancing.”

The young man cleared his throat nervously. “Ah, that is perfectly okay my—I mean, Tav. How about a walk, then? Just to chat!”

How adorable. She casted him a slight gleam, sympathizing with the attraction he held for her. “You are so very sweet, but I have plans for the night with my friend Astarion here. If you find me again in Baldur’s Gate, maybe I will be able to turn in my raincheck to you—depending on the circumstances, of course.”

She could see the pale elf raise his eyebrows as he continued preening in the mirror at his non reflective self.

Guex peered over his shoulder at the spawn before quickly turning back to face Tav. “Oh! Um, yes that would be more than fine! Uuuhh, thank you for your consideration! And thank you again for earlier. Have a good evening,” he replied in haste before escaping to rejoin the party.

Astarion threw the mirror to the ground with a melodramatic sneer. “All I wanted was to have a little fun tonight. But here you are bringing the lambs to gander. Your admirers follow you everywhere, don’t they? Like lost mice begging for crumbs.”

“Except, I have no crumbs to give.” She bent down to retrieve the hand mirror, handing it to him. “Why were you looking at this?”

He grabbed the object from her, sighing. “Fruitlessly trying to will the damned thing to show my reflection, I suppose. I still enjoy petty vanity—at least what I’m able to do with it. You know, I have no idea what I look like anymore. Not since I grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?”

“I-I don’t remember. My face is nothing but a hazy indistinct shape in my memory now.” A grimness entered his gaze as he tossed the mirror into his tent heatedly. “Another wonderful part of me Cazador took!’

Tav moved in closer to him, resting her hands on either side of her hips. She balanced on her tiptoes at different angles, examining his face. “I could imagine you with bluish golden eyes. Akin to the sunset on a clear day, right after a single star pops out—to match your porcelain coif!”

The corner of the vampire’s mouth rose waggishly. He spun around once, modeling himself. “Oh? Don’t stop there. What else do you see? I want to know how others view me.”

Brimming with a million words to describe Astarion flooded her thoughts alongside the blush that greeted the tips of her ears. His gorgeousness dangled in front of her waking hours and inspired rhymes to dominate the prose that fought to be in her head.

Heavens grant peace upon her for seeking his validation in the moment.

The songstress’s chin scrunched up in concentration. “Your smile. It’s bright like the full moon’s glow kissing the surface of water.”

The pallid elf sighed in annoyance. “This is supposed to be flattery, my dear. If I wanted bad poetry, I’d ask Wyll to recite some to me from his questionable scripts. Try again.”

Tav chuckled. She loved the raillery they so easily fell into with each other. There was a nod towards his hands as she spoke again. “Your hands. Strong. Dexterous. But, your touch is possibly one of the most tender I’ve ever known.”

“I’m starting to wonder why I even bothered to ask,” he muttered under his breath. “Fine. What about the whole of my face?”

“High cheekbones. A pointed angular jaw. Straight nose. Features that any sculpture would be counted blessed by the deities to exhibit to the world.”

He blinked a few times with a low hum in his voice. “That’s a bit better I suppose. Do you think I’m beautiful? Answer yes and we’ll call it a day.”

Tav clasped her hands behind her back, walking around him once as if she were assessing the presentation of his appearance. “You certainly don’t have Lae’zel’s appeal, but you do well enough, I guess,” she teased with a large grin.

Faking disgruntlement, Astarion lazily put his hand across the expanse of his chest. “You guess? How dare you. And here I thought we had something special. Though, you look alright too—I guess.”

They both burst into stitches of friendly chuckles, much like the time under the willow tree and the first night they kissed.

Hearts—beating and dead—danced the slow drag to an unheard sway of blues. A twinkle of time for the bard to act, emboldened by the alcohol in her stomach and the sacred affections she held for Astarion. She nimbly latched onto his forearm with both hands and pulled him down with her into the plush pillows carefully arranged in front of his tent, giggling playfully.

Landing on top of her in surprise, she watched as he tried to balance himself on his elbows, hovering above her sternum. His face was so dangerously close to hers, the delicate blend of blood and milky mint off his palate reached her nose. Pinned under him, the anchored weight of his body’s lower portion was distributed to his legs, with one artfully shoved between her skirted thighs. She was grateful most of the guests had dispersed for the night, finding themselves unvirtuous in the throes of passion with a stranger or asleep from the drink.

“Yes, of course, take a seat,” he rumbled sarcastically, inches from the brûlée of her lips.

“It’s more comfortable down here,” the bard bashfully smiled, her slender finger now twirling the lacings of his shirt flirtatiously. “Play a game with me?”

“Well, isn’t this unusual? I would have never thought you could be so forward given your coy nature.” Astarion fiddled with the ruffling along the edged collar line of her chemise, pulling the fabric down enough to uncover her left shoulder. “But, isn’t that what we’re doing right now? Playing a game. Our roles reversed. You: performing as the alluring soubrette. Me: as the enamored.”

“Hmm. I suppose, but I did actually have another one in mind,” she sighed faintly as he rubbed circles into the tattooed portion of her upper arm.

The spawn cocked a peculiar brow. Snaking a hand to slide up the side of her clothed thigh, inching a bit of the fabric upwards, he whispered at the corner of her mouth. “Mmm. You wish to play it right here?”

“Right here,” she consented quietly, feeling her head slightly buzzed from the mead. A rush of heat hit her core and she shivered, causing her to involuntarily roll her hips. Her leg, still caught between his, rubbed into his pelvis forcing Astarion to groan.

One, two, three, four. Four faded outlines of beauty marks she counted on his cheek. If she connected them, they would resemble a lesser cluster of stars. Ones that she would wish upon to guide her through the glass halls she wandered during their interactions.

Spindly fingers spidered their way to her lower stomach, tracing the waistband of her skirts. His finger slid under the band just enough to tease the hem of her smalls resting on her mound, only to pull back when she whimpered for him. “And what’s my reward if I win?”

The entirety of her body felt inflamed, only to be cooled down with a sudden whisk of careful hands tingling patches on her ivory skin. Her plump lips, filled with a rush of sanguine fluid, tapped adoring kisses into his temple. “That’s yet to be determined.”

Teeth scraped down her cheek onto the side of her satiny neck. He released an exhale of his breath, sending a lustful chill down her spine while he pointed the tip of his fang on the unhealed mark from his previous feeding. “What’s it called?”

Tav could feel his semi erect length, heavy and throbbing through his trousers, releasing pleasant waves of moisture in places she wanted him to touch. She shamefully imagined how beautiful his cock must be, especially after he’d drank blood. Engorged and leaking, waiting for it to be taken out to admire.

With a mere purse of her lips near the shell of his ear, she purred. “Questions and Commands.”

“Excuse me?” he pulled back instantly in puzzlement, steadying himself over her once more.

“Questions and Commands. You said you wanted to have a little fun,” she repeated.

“That fluff of a children's game is not exactly what I had in mind. Saving all of those ram horned hellions has made me feel awful! I am not interested in getting caught up in frivolous chit-chat, no matter how much I may enjoy your charms.” He dipped his head down to position an open mouthed peck in the region above the start of her breast tissue. “Now, where were we?”

She wriggled her arms from the confined space to place them on his shoulders, attempting to distract him. As much as she desired another physically intimate night with him, she needed to execute her plan. If they continued to carry on in the same way they had been, the pleasure may not be worth the pain that would come later unless they tried to understand each other better���including the demons that meant to take them prisoner.

“Astarion!” Laughter spooled from Tav as his eyelashes tickled her clavicle. “You damned scoundrel, would you stop for a moment?! Are you certain about not playing? Because I’m fairly confident we could make it interesting.”

“My sweet, the only thing on my mind is depraved carnal lust with a very specific songbird,” he murmured into the hollow of her breastbone. “I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while.”

It was becoming difficult for the womanly elf to concentrate. With every precise caress from him, any logical reasoning she held was becoming diluted with his sinuous friction against her. She wanted him in ways she hadn’t predicted tonight.

Tav ran her fingers through his curls, gifting her with a vibrating moan from him. “You are going to ruin every bit of me—as I’m sure you intended to do.” She tugged on his head, urging him to look at her while her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “Please. Just this once? I want to—I would like to get to know you better and at least this is a more noncommittal way to do so.”

Astarion’s pupils widened. A vague mosaic of feelings seemed to usurp themselves from the nailed coffin of his lost spirit. Distrust? Anxiety? A hint of confusion and fragility. Perhaps even a longing of forspoken broken dreams for connection. Could they tie a binding string of cat’s cradle around their fingers to strengthen their bond or would the three Fates snip them apart never to be bound in life?

Astarion, full of haunts. Protection is with thee. Blessed is your face in the sun, And compassion given to you from the shadows. Holy is your kiss, Granted to lovers old and new. At your undead hour and here ever after, May you eventually find peace

He audibly sighed, “Ugh. Fineeee, you wretched creature! Since you seem so insistent on it.” The vamp halted the ministry of his cool lips on her flesh, lifting himself all the way up to kneel in front of her. He reached down to cup the front of his trousers to add comfort to the visible straining hardness. “Though, if you ask me about my favorite color, I’m never speaking to you again. Lady’s first.”

Tav sat up, patting her clothes down to soothe out the wrinkles. Pointing a finger into the air, she counted off. “Before I choose, let’s set up a few ground rules. One: You don’t have to answer anything you’re really uncomfortable with. Two: Same rule applies for the command. Three: Have a good time! Now for my first pick…”

Embers from the local campfire glowed feebly as they continued their game, setting the mood for Astarion to light a couple of his fancy candelabras. A wine bottle, stolen from Wyll’s stash during one of Tav’s command turns, sat betwixt the two companions. Smudged lightly with her lipstick on the rim, they passed it to each other’s mouths while exchanging inviting glances. Willowy digits often skimmed hers, as if he were reaching out from the shadows to capture the dust in the sunlight.

“I still cannot believe I saw Shadowheart and Wyll with their tongues in each other's mouths,” the bard shook her head merrily. “However, I did hear him laying it on thick with his lines earlier. I wonder which one finally caught her attention?”

Astarion smirked mischievously. “My word. I guess our little enigma wanted to see his ‘Blade of Avernus’ after all.”

Arabellan Dry deposited on her tongue as she relieved the bottle of another swig. She had been sedulous in maintaining a misty buzz, sipping mouthfuls of water from her waterskin after imbibing the wine.

During their exchanges, Tav learned Astarion’s favorite pickup lines, giving her quite the amused blush when he tried all of them on her. She responded by telling him that his silliness was one of his personality traits she liked the most. As a quirk of a side smile, with a touch of sorrow, twitched on his pasty jaw, she imagined audiences hungering for that very expression watching the lead actor on stage. Had anyone ever paid this man a genuine compliment that detracted from his handsomeness before?

To his extravagant disdain, she commanded him to play with Scratch by throwing his ball several times.

”See, that wasn’t so bad? And he thanked you with a kiss.” Tav smiled happily as Astarion sat back down.

”Wasn’t so bad? He slobbered all over my hands and gods know what vile things he’s had in his mouth recently,” he remarked in contempt.

“But, you’ve now made a long-lasting AND loyal friend.”

Astarion didn’t reply, but she witnessed him look over at the dog in confusion as if he couldn’t comprehend entirely what she had said.

He questioned why she made it a point to tell Guex she didn’t enjoy dancing instead of only refusing him, which she politely declined to answer.

“Not every bard has to dance to music,” she awkwardly laughed.

“No, but you choose not to for other reasons, not because you dislike it. Why?”

Astarion stared through her. She blinked away bleary tears filling her ducts. It was the first time he had decided to intentionally ask something so viscerally raw about her and she couldn’t even give herself permission to answer fully.

Tav looked at him in shame, her voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready yet. Can we move on?”

Later on, she commanded him to show her some sewing techniques and why he enjoyed them. "Thread binds everything together. Perfect seams. Hidden mishaps. Stains. Rips in the finest details of the fabric," he had told her in no uncertain terms.

Eventually, the commands stopped, leaving way for only questions. Ones that left the deepest rings of sound resonating within, like church bells calling them to worship these parts of each other, as they clutched for the other’s breath—practiced and alive.

“Question.”

Tav sat up straight, excited to ask her next inquiry. “Name one of your favorite lines in poetry or a ballad. I may have snooped and seen you carrying around a copy of ‘Lord Dandelion’s Sonnets’ with you.”

Astarion puffed out a breath, then hummed in concentration.

“Wings unpinned within a cage, I see the gold in the sky over yonder, The stars, a poor imitation of the ball of flame.

Restless, I wait, feathers outstretched, The only sound being the clouds overflowed, Across the tides of the wind…”

“...now freed, I stay grounded, afraid of the dawn’s break," they finished reciting together.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you know of his poetry, but for some reason, I am a bit astonished that you know of his less popular works,” he commented in surprise.

“Those works are some of his most influential. They deal with the complex emotions inside all of us.”

He snuck a drink from the wine before passing it to her, as if he were trying to swallow down sudden ideas he hadn’t thought of in two centuries. “Your turn,” he reminded her.

“Hmm. Question.”

As the night became quieter, the two had comfortably scooted closer together. They faced one another, Tav with her legs resting lazily between Astarion’s widely spread ones, still with the wine bottle acting as a barrier amidst them.

“What do you keep under your skirts, aside from that lovely hosiery nestled against your pale legs?” He reached out to drag the palm of his hand up and down her lower shin. Ah, so he had been watching her earlier during her performance.

A fake gasp escaped as she lifted her skirts high enough to show him the knife in her garter.

“The femme fatale. Not what I was expecting. And what of the other side?” the vampire pressed in a low gravel.

The other side of her skirts gradually lifted to reveal the flowers in her other leather garter. Tugging one out, she leaned forward to place it into one of the eyelets on the front of his shirt. It was a dainty bit of a bloom. White. Four petals surrounding yellow stamens.

“Flowers? I find them to be gaudy trite instruments for the living.”

"They happen to smell nice,” Tav remarked. “And…they have a language of their own.”

He gazed down at the flimsy growth she had fixed on his clothes in disbelief. “A language? Well, enlighten me. What is this flower trying to say?”

The bard put her index finger up to her lips. “Shh. It doesn’t speak now, but you will find out later. That being said, I have one final question I’d like to ask you.”

“I believe we’ve come too far in this pitiful game of ours to stop now—ask it.”

Tav placed her chin on top of her knees, folding her arms underneath her legs. “Have you ever been in love?”

Astarion loudly scoffed. “Ha! Of course, my sweet. Why every night I had someone in bed, was a night to fall in love with someone new. Thousands of times over!”

She glowered at him.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! Gods, fine, if I have ever been in love. it would have been before I was turned into the monster I am now. Being under Cazador’s thrall didn’t exactly allow me to experience such relationships,” he answered honestly, turning to gaze away from her. Was he uncomfortable?

And then it slipped out. The unfading sentence that would change the rest of their evening. The comment that caused his facial expression to disobey his usual mask by granting her but a singular moment of incredulity. “I see no monsters here, ‘Starion.”

Nearer, nearer, nearer does he move. Grabbing her hands and kissing the underside of them. He wrapped them around his neck and tucked a couple of fingers under her chin, bringing her rosy face to his own. It was akin to witnessing lovers sharing secrets under an umbrella of their own carved out space. She could see the powder blues of his lifeless veins in the lighting, plagued with the intimate images to trace them with her fingers—with her lips.

“What would it take for you to be mine?” he cooed.

“To be yours?” she questioned shyly.

Bloodlust. Sex. Is this what all this was really about? Understandably, vampires could crave both, but was that all this was between them? Why go through the trouble of touching her body like he meant to venerate her?

Yet, mayhaps she was overthinking their entanglement. He told her before he was only seeking a distraction. Despite the care she felt for him that was at constant war, maybe that’s all this needed to be. Casual intimacy didn’t require labels; it only required consent. And they would most likely part ways once their situations with the tadpoles dissipated. She shouldn’t get used to having him by her side for longer than necessary.

“For tonight, that is," he affirmed.

“Maybe you should command me and find out.”

“I command you to come to my bed tonight,” Astarion proposed, working starved pecks on her lips.

“For what exactly?” Tav whispered into his mouth.

“Pleasure. I think we’ve waited long enough.”

[megamindsupremacy]

Misc PJO fic recs (Part 2)

Tired head counselor nico by sundaysabotage

“I just don’t get it,” he huffs to Will as they put up holiday decorations in the unusually quiet infirmary, “they talk to me like I’m supposed to know stuff. Like I’m the new Percy or something.”

Nico expects Will to laugh at this, shrug off his concerns as unfounded and tell him he’s being over-dramatic like usual.

He is wrong.

“Okay, babe, don’t take this the wrong way. But, you kind of are the new Percy.”

-

Rivers by eridans

He's ten and ninety simultaneously, his mother was murdered and his sister is a stranger. He's got a deck of cards that he holds onto like a lifeline and an Italian-English dictionary that's old as hell and crumbling, but it's not as old as he is, and that makes him laugh.

The River Lethe was supposed to take away their memories, but Nico remembers his past, his days at home, the times he spent with his sister and mother at parades Mussolini hosted, where Maria sang the national anthem. The river tried to take away everything Nico cherished, and it could have been pure desperation or grief that made him remember his past.

Nico didn't know.

-

The wedding party by yrbeecharmer

Leo: I’m Leo, I’m the hottest groomsman in the place, literally [Leo makes finger guns at the camera], and I think Thalia, the maid of honor—eternal maiden of of honor, you might say— Piper [offscreen]: BOOOOOOOO! Leo: —is gonna get the drunkest at the reception.

-

Meg and Apollo's highly limited road-trip playlist by curiouser

Fourteen hundred miles. Four radio stations. Two friends trying hard not to kill each other, or to acknowledge the fact that in less than a week, they may never see each other again.

And Lizzo. So much Lizzo.

-

percy Jackson and the scrutiny of his coworkers by pqrker

Jim turned back to the tank and looked at Marcie the seal, who was now staring at the spot his coworker had been standing just moments before with that same strange look of reverence in her eyes.

Percy Jackson truly was the oddest person Jim Elpool had ever worked with.

or

5 times percy's coworkers were confounded by his fish magic, plus 1 time they try to figure it out

-

Build it bigger than the sun by furnaceglow

An eternity. And an end.

There are nearly unreconcilable differences between now and then, between boy and god, but one thing remains the same: the Fates can never let him stay, and they can never let him be happy.

This is no longer looking like a good idea. Apollo chooses to remain mortal. Surprisingly, it’s not the end of his journey.

-

War of Shadows by HonorH

Six years ago, Nico di Angelo disappeared, leaving Will Solace with a broken heart and no answers. Now, Nico has reappeared, badly wounded and covered in tattoos, and Will has even more questions than he started with.

-

Sand Dollar Child by withay

There's far too much divinity in Percy Jackson. It oozes from him, to the point where he's sometimes mistaken for Poseidon. Percy doesn't know this yet. All he knows is that this nereid is asking to borrow five drachmas.

-

and keep on walking, come what will by andromedabennet

annabeth sleepwalks, percy frets, and luke learns why you can't trust any immortals, no matter how much they promise you

(mostly) canon-compliant from the titan's curse to the house of hades

-

wisegirl is live! by larkofchaos

Fans piece together that popular streamer B4ckb1t3r's companion, Wisegirl, bears a striking resemblance to kidnapped seven-year-old, Annabeth Chase. Even down to the same name. Isn't that just crazy?

-

[rattschmooze]

fake event thing

phantom bride part 2 :3 ..ft maeve cuz its my fake event

━━━━━━━━━━

♡ The Phantom Bride: Annibooersary! ♡

Eliza and Puffy returns to Night Raven to have their winter anniversary; but some mysterious spirits are ruining their perfect plans...!

♡ CARDS ♡

SSR Ghostly Bridesmaid Maeve

SSR Ghostly Groomsman Malleus

SR Groomsmaid Vil

SR Groomsman Jack

SR Groomsman Silver

R Groomsman Trey

♡ STORY SPOILERS + RHYTHMIC ♡

The party is being disturbed by ghost penguins who simply want to party along after eons of not partying; Malleus and Maeve — who feels pity for the ghost penguins — tries to welcome them to the party but this makes Eliza angry. (This part is mostly the others trying to fix the issues – they find out about Malleus and Maeve aiding the ghost penguins and the others decided to try to convince Eliza to welcome them). Which after a mini fit, Eliza slowly realized how sad the ghost penguins are and welcomes them.

The rhythmic is a cover of Ghosts Just Wanna Dance which is sung by Malleus and Maeve (this would also marks the return of Malleus' piano skills). The rhythmic has the cast turning into ghosts by the partying ghost penguins, this eventually spreads to the entire campus and everyone turns into a ghost. The final parts of the rhythmic has everyone flying out of Night Raven College and partying up in the night skies.

[heartfucksmouth]

currently in NH and about to attend the bougiest wedding I've ever been to. we skipped the Welcome Cocktails tonight because the dress code is frankly inconsiderate to the fact that some of us are fuckin poor and maybe don't own floor length evening dresses and tea length cocktail dresses and suits for every mood like we're the Roy family in Succession. it's my cousin and he's marrying this (very nice) girl but um her whole family is basically from Mexico?? and not saying everyone in Mexico is poor, but like, some of her family skipped cocktails too.

it's really bizarre to know the world is on fire, brown children are being bombed and dying, my own baby wasn't allowed to attend with me (no kids at all), and idk even my brother who is a groomsman wasn't aware they were supposed to wear SUITS to the cocktail party and give speeches.

I'm wearing the one nice dress I got while pregnant, and I still have to wear my Chelsea boots with it bc all my dress flats are too small for me due to my feet widening from being pregnant (and yknow I also have weak ass joints too so that really encouraged the pregnancy-feet-growth thing.

I tried to wear a dressy shirt with my leggings and I looked like a Ms. Potato Head. just a potato body with arms and legs. Myles hugged me and kissed me and told me I was the most beautiful person in the world and his mamacita, but it's hard to feel nice when I don't have anything flattering or comfortable to wear and I'm NOT spending money on more clothes that fit my body now.. bc I don't plan to be this size forever. I bought jeans at a larger size but they're high waisted and still too small :)

whatever idk I'm gonna try to relish getting a full night's sleep but I miss my son lol

anyways I can't wait for this to be over so I can go back to my humble existence. like I feel ashamed of myself bc I feel like I have a neon sign above my head that says "POOR" kind of like I did when I wore this dress last time and we went to the most expensive steak house I've ever been to be my neighbor-boss gave us a $200 gift card to go there before the baby was born. like I just do not belong yaayy

[atplblog]

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