#i hope this still makes sense once i've slept on it.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Were You Wooing Me?

Prompt Day 11: Cabin | Word Count: 769 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Dustin Henderson: Matchmaker, Background Ronance (or not, your choice), Acting on Feelings, First Kiss,

It could be worse.

It could be better, too.

But it could definitely be worse. In the pro column, it's not located in the Upside Down, Steve supposes. But Henderson could have also not talked it up quite as much as he did. It looks like his great-grandparents just walked out one day and never returned. 

"Is there really only one bed?" Robin asks, pacing around the cabin, as if another room is suddenly gonna appear. 

"Looks that way," Nancy says, and Steve is pretty sure there's not room for more than one bedroom here. But Dustin swore there was room for all four of them, easy. 

He's a dirty, little liar.

Eddie's settled into the old rocking chair, and is gently keeping himself swaying. He's always moving as far as Steve can tell, but right this second he's looking distinctly unbothered for Eddie.

"You two take the bedroom, we can crash on the floor," Eddie says, and Steve thinks that's awfully generous of him. But it does make the most sense. He can't imagine listening to Robin yap about being stuck on the floor. 

This will be easier for everyone. Even if it means he has to sleep on the floor with the mice.

Fuck, he hopes there's not mice.

The girls go to bed, and he can hear them in the bathroom, washing their faces or whatever it is that girls do once they are in a bathroom together.

Eddie has started a fire, and it's actually warming up nicely. Steve has squatted down in front of the fire, rubbing his hands together as Eddie bustles around behind him. Steve's leaving him to it. Eddie was quite adamant that he didn't want, nor need, Steve's help.

It's still the floor, so Steve isn't getting too excited. But at least they probably won't freeze to death. They did bring a pile of extra blankets, just in case, because Nancy made them, and Steve's happy about that, now. This place wasn't exactly ready for guests. Eddie gathered up their share of the blankets, and said he was making them a pallet on the floor. Steve's not really sure what that means, but he lets Eddie do his thing.

"Tada," Eddie sing-songs, and Steve turns his way.

Whoa, it looks just like a bed, just without a mattress.

"Wow, how'd you learn how to do that?" Steve asks, and he's almost scared to mess it up.

"Wayne," Eddie answers. "I stayed with him a lot as a kid, and he'd always make me a pallet bed. Most of the time it was better than anything I had at home."

Steve swallows. That's a depressing thought. 

"That was before he had to give me his room when I moved in officially to make the state happy, of course. He bought a roll-away at an old motel auction for himself. It was never as good as his pallets, though."

Steve bets they made Eddie feel special, because hell, this right here tonight makes Steve feel special. It's not just a pile of blankets on the floor, which is definitely what Steve would have done if he'd been in charge.

"It looks really nice," Steve says, "thanks, Eddie. I would have just slept on the hardwood floor."

Eddie laughs. 

"Just get in bed, Harrington."

They lay shoulder-to-shoulder. Steve has been feeling some feelings about Eddie for a while now and he's just pushed it all down as deep as he could hide it. Sure that Eddie wasn't interested.

But, well. Maybe. 

Everything he's done tonight feels a little bit like wooing. 

And Steve?

He'd really like to be wooed. 

It's quiet between them, only the crackling fire providing background noise. It's a comfortable silence, though. 

But Steve still can't help himself.

"Were you wooing me?" Steve asks, and immediately regrets opening his mouth.

Eddie laughs, and Steve kind of wants to jump in that fire just to escape this. He shouldn't have said anything. He feels like a fool.

"I've been wooing you for months, Harrington. You just realized that?"

"Yes," Steve says, then adds, "No. I don't know. I didn't want to assume."

"Assume away."

And Steve wants to, he really, really wants to. 

Steve rolls onto his side, so he can see Eddie better. Eddie rolls onto his side as well, meeting him face-to-face.

"You think Henderson did this on purpose?" Steve asks.

"Oh, hell yes he did," Eddie says, and Steve smiles. 

He can't be that mad about it, then.

And Steve reaches out and cups Eddie's cheek, leaning in, his lips pressing to Eddie's for the very first time.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

[arcana-greenleaf]

Ok, ok, I hope you don't mind another. Your writing is just amazing and the way you write the characters is just PERFECTION!!

I've had this one idea floating around and I'm itching to share it!

A girl ends up in Volterra after deciding to go on a solo trip. She's mated to either Alec or Demetri or maybe even Felix(I'm open!) BUT the twist is this: she is Aro's great(however far down the line) niece. I'm thinking something about her triggers his memories of his human family(I know Marcus was with his sister but I'm thinking one sibling survived and stayed human).

I'd love for her to be a bookwormish type of girl again, maybe she traveled there to see the historic sites or something and ends up being pulled into something supernatural!

I hope this makes sense! I appreciate all you've done so far! 😭😭😭

Hey hey!! I’m so sorry for the long wait I got super busy with exams, Valentine’s Day, and some family things. Hopefully, this chapter meets your expectations! As a history student, I really enjoyed writing the historical elements hehe. :) I focused mostly on Aro and his long-lost niece because I loved the concept and wanted to establish it properly, but I’m totally open to doing a part two where I explore the romance between the reader and their chosen character. That’s all from me for now and thank you so much for requesting, as always! <3<3

The cobbled streets of Volterra were everything she had dreamed of. Ancient, winding, whispering with the ghosts of the past. Ivy clung to weathered stone, the scent of fresh bread and aged parchment drifted from open-air cafés, and the warm Tuscan sun bathed the city in gold. She adjusted her glasses, brushing a stray curl from her face as she studied the guidebook in her hands. She had spent years dreaming about this solo trip, pouring over history books, sketching maps in the margins of her notebooks. It was an escape and an indulgence in everything she loved. History. Literature. The stories that old places told if one only listened closely enough. And Volterra, one of Italy’s most ancient cities, promised plenty of stories. The city was steeped in history, dating back to the Etruscans. She had always found herself drawn to ruins, to places where the past lingered in the air. This was her chance to walk in the footsteps of scholars and poets, of conquerors and commoners, of those long forgotten yet eternally present in the walls that surrounded her. She had spent the morning exploring the Museo Etrusco Guarnacci, marveling at the funerary urns and their intricately carved lids depicting figures frozen in time.

Now, she wandered aimlessly, allowing the city to guide her. What she never imagined was stepping into a story of her own. The feeling started subtly at first – a prickle on the back of her neck, the uncanny sensation of being watched. She dismissed it as the natural unease of being alone in a foreign place, but the weight of unseen eyes never left her. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, but the bustling streets carried only tourists and locals, none of whom paid her any special attention. Still, the feeling persisted. She chalked it up to paranoia. Or maybe jet lag. She had barely slept the night before, too giddy with excitement. That, combined with the heavy heat, was bound to play tricks on her mind. Her feet led her through the Piazza dei Priori, the heart of the city. She let her fingers trail along the cool stone of an archway, pausing before an iron-wrought gate leading into what she assumed was an administrative building. The emblem above it was an ornate crest that drew her in, the design strangely familiar in a way she couldn’t place. She turned away, intending to continue her exploration, when she collided with something, or rather someone, solid. A chill raced down her spine. The man before her was unnaturally still, his crimson eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He was tall, statuesque, with dark hair and an aristocratic air that made him seem like he had stepped out of a Renaissance painting. “I- ” she began, but the man tilted his head, lips curving in a way that sent every nerve in her body on high alert. “Interesting,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You have quite the resemblance to someone.” As he spoke she could feel it – some tether snapping into place, something irrevocable settling in the marrow of her bones. His gaze darkened, nostrils flaring as if drinking in her very essence. She didn’t understand the weight of the moment, but he did. “You should come with me,” he said, voice gentle, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a command. She took a step back. “Excuse me?” Before she could blink, another figure materialized beside the first, this one even more regal, draped in flowing black robes. His skin was translucent, his long fingers steepled in thought as he studied her. “Aro,” the first man murmured, as though she were an offering presented before a king. The second man, Aro, gazed at her in silence. Then as if compelled he reached for her hand. She jerked back on instinct, but something in the way his expression flickered made her pause. “You…” Aro whispered, his voice barely audible. His crimson eyes burned with something she couldn’t name. “I know you.” A cold dread settled in her stomach. “That’s impossible.” Aro’s lips curled into a knowing smile, and in that moment, she knew her fate had already been sealed. She had come to Volterra to touch history. She hadn’t expected history to touch back.

______________________________________________________________

In the hours that followed, she found herself swept away and led through a labyrinth of hidden corridors beneath Volterra. The walls dripped with age and the air was thick with something ancient, something beyond time. She should have been afraid, should have been struggling, screaming, demanding an explanation but instead, she walked in silence, her mind whirring. They finally arrived at a vast chamber where two more men were waiting. The silence in the chamber was suffocating. Aro stood before her, fingers still tingling from the momentary contact with her skin. His expression remained unreadable, though a storm brewed behind his red eyes. He turned slightly, exchanging a glance with Marcus and Caius, who observed the scene with varying degrees of interest. “My dear,” Aro’s voice was soft, almost reverent. “Do you have any idea who you are?” The question sent a shiver through her. “I’m just… me,” she answered hesitantly. “I came here for a vacation, to see the historical sites.” Aro let out a low chuckle, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, fate is truly a fascinating thing.” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “You are more than a tourist. You carry the blood of my family, the last thread to a past long buried.” She shook her head, heart hammering. “That’s not possible.” “Oh, but it is.” His voice was velvet and as he circled her his robes whispered against the marble floor. “Centuries ago, before I chose this life, before immortality, I had a family. A sister.” His eyes darkened. “She did not join me on this path. She remained human. And her bloodline, it seems, has endured the test of time.” The words hit her like a blow. Aro, this ancient, powerful being was claiming her as kin. “You are my descendant, my blood,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “How extraordinary.” The weight of his words sank in, a dizzying sensation overtaking her. Her entire reality had shifted in an instant. She wasn’t just another tourist. She wasn’t just a visitor admiring Volterra’s beauty. She was tied to something far older, far darker than she had ever imagined. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to breathe. This had to be a mistake. “I don’t-” She struggled to form the words, to make sense of the impossible. “I don’t understand. How can you be sure?” Aro’s lips curled into something resembling a smile, but there was something almost wistful in his expression. “My dear, I have seen many things in my years but there are certain truths one does not question.” He lifted a pale hand, as if tempted to touch her again but refrained. “When I took your hand, I saw pieces of the past, fragments of what once was. The resemblance alone is uncanny, but the blood… it does not lie.” Marcus, who had been watching in silence, shifted slightly in his throne. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes bore into her with a depth that made her uneasy. “It has been a long time since Aro has spoken of his human ties,” his voice barely above a whisper. “This is… unexpected.” Caius, on the other hand, did not look as pleased. His lips curled in distaste, his crimson gaze sharp with suspicion. “Blood does not always make one family,” he murmured barely sparing her a glance. “What does it matter? She is human. Fragile.” Aro didn’t seem perturbed by his Caius' dismissiveness. Instead, he clasped his hands together, his eyes still locked onto her. “Oh, but this changes everything, dear Caius. She is the last of my mortal lineage. A thread connecting me to the past I had thought lost forever.” His voice filled with admiration, and it made her stomach twist. The sheer gravity of the situation was suffocating.

This morning, she had been an ordinary traveller exploring the streets of an ancient city, marvelling at its history. Now, she was standing in the heart of something far older, something secret and dangerous. “I- I don’t know what you want from me,” she admitted, voice unsteady. “I’m not… I’m not special.” Aro chuckled, shaking his head as if the very idea amused him. “Oh, but you are, dear one. You are proof that my past did not die with my humanity. You are a living remnant of a life I thought lost to the sands of time.” His gaze softened, something almost warm flickering in his ancient eyes. “And I would see you protected.” Protected. The word rang in her ears like a warning. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Protected,” she echoed warily. “From what?” Aro exchanged a glance with Marcus before answering. “From the world, my dear. And from those who might seek to exploit what you are.” A chill ran down her spine. “And what exactly am I?” Aro stepped closer, his presence both commanding and unnerving. “You are my kin,” he said simply. “And that is not a thing I take lightly.” She searched his face for any sign of deception, for some hint of ulterior motive, but all she found was certainty. Whatever this was, whatever he saw in her, he truly believed it. And that terrified her. Alec and Felix, who had been standing in silent observation after entering the chamber, finally moved. Alec’s curious gaze lingered on her. Felix, on the other hand, exhaled sharply and smirked. “So, what now?” he asked, his deep voice breaking the tension. “Do we add ‘long-lost niece’ to the official Volterra records?” Caius scoffed. “This is a distraction.” Aro only smiled, clearly unfazed by his displeasure. “This is an opportunity,” he corrected smoothly. Then, turning his full attention back to her he gestured toward the grand chamber. “You must be exhausted, my dear. We have much to discuss, but you will need time to process all you have learned.” She hesitated. Was that an order or a suggestion? Her body screamed for rest, for a moment to breathe and process the sheer impossibility of what had happened. But the logical part of her mind, the part that still clung to reason, knew she wasn’t leaving. Not yet. Maybe not ever. With a deep breath, she nodded. “I… I think I need to sit down.” Aro’s smile widened, his crimson gaze gleaming with something unreadable. “Then allow me to extend my hospitality, dear one. You are, after all, family.” And as the doors to the chamber closed behind her, she knew with unsettling certainty that her life would never be the same again.

[aarchengel]

Making Her Mine

Summary: Rebekah compels Elena to reveal her feelings for you and now your trust is betrayed. Rebekah seizes this opportunity to warm up to you as she has always found you attractive. Hanging out with her escalates to a make-out session as you relish your newfound feelings for her...

Smut, angst, a lil' bit of fluff

Elena cheating on the reader, Elena slander

3K

A/N: This is the first time I've published smut. I hope it's fine (I know it's horrible) otherwise just forget this happened... do let me know if you liked it. Happy reading!

Rebekah Mikaelson X Fem!Reader

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Rebekah was dragging Stefan by the arm to the high school library and you trailed behind them, compelled to do as the Original said.

Elena, your girlfriend of two years, gasps and stands up at your arrival. "Stefan, Y/N..."

You shot her a confused look, not understanding why was she so shocked.

Rebekah shot at the brunette. "Did I say you could move?" Elena shot her an exasperated look as she slowly sat down and you moved to sit near her.

She circled you people and spoke loudly in her accented voice. "Class is in session. You know the rules. Answer my questions honestly. No disobedience, no one leaves. April, my sweet, take notes. That's how you get answers in this town."

Her gaze lingered on you, which made you feel nervous and fidgety. Sure, you didn't show it, but she was a thousand-year-old vampire who could kill you in the blink of an eye, who was currently eyeing you like a predator would do to its prey. "In the year 1114, my brother learned, thanks to yours truly, about a brother of vampire hunters with tattoos that grew with each kill. These tattoos revealed what, Elena?"

"A map" your girlfriend answered, looking down. "Which led to... Caroline?"

"A cure for vampirism."

"Perfect. So we're all caught up. Stefan Salvatore, the last time we saw each other, you had a vampire hunter. But in order to decode the map, you need the location of the hunter’s sword, which you got out of me by using some very dirty tricks. Assuming you found the sword, you also found the cure… and you’re all still vampires. Something went wrong."

She looked at April. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you asked me to take notes."

Rebekah sighed. "Oh, I wasn't being literal, darling. But now that you mention it, a flow chart would be nice. Which means index cards and push pins. Go fetch." The teen left.

At that very moment, the blonde Original appeared oh-so-tempting to you. The way she exercised control over all of you made you feel hot all over. It has happened quite a few times before. But you were with Elena and you had no tolerance for cheaters. There was just something about Rebekah that has always piqued your interest, but then again, loyalty was the most important thing for you. No one else but Elena had a place in your heart all this time.

Stefan grew irritated and straightened up. "You're wasting your time. We don't know anything."

"So you just gave up? I thought you'd do anything to save Elena. Y/N?"

Suddenly, all eyes in the room stared at you. The tension was so thick, you though a chainsaw was needed to cut through it. You sensed something bad and grew antsy under their collective gazes. "Why are you all staring?"

No answer. "Guys...?"

Rebekah spoke again. "I'm missing something. What is it?"

No one spoke. "I asked you what happened. You have to tell me."

Finally, the younger Salvatore brother spoke. "Elena slept with Damon."

You whipped your head around to look at the mentioned brunette. Hot, white rage was all you felt thrumming in your veins. You were known for your calm demeanor and excellent control over anger, but it was getting really difficult not to claw the doppelganger's eyes out. "What is the meaning of this?!"

The doe-eyed Gilbert just looked down and spoke nothing. She knew how much your relationship meant to you. She knew that once your trust is betrayed, it's over. She knew that loyalty was the most important thing in the entire world to you. And yet she chose to disrespect you. It made you feel so pathetic. Another victim of the Petrova charm putty in the doppelganger's paws. What a bitch. Your eyes burned with hot tears, threatening to fall down. Your throat choked and tightened, making it impossible for you to say another word. No. You thought. You wouldn't shed your tears for a cheater. Tears are so precious; blood flows from the body, tears flow from the soul. Never in your entire life you had felt so insulted and betrayed. I am going to ruin them, you thought. No, I mustn't waste a moment of my life on these worthless assholes. You decided the latter was a better option. No one was as crafty and cruel as you when it came to revenge. You would be consumed by the fire of vengeance. God, you thought you sounded like you were going on a bloodbath. But that's the dark beauty of you...

You subtly took a deep breath and leaned back, your face a stone-cold mask in which even the most observant couldn't find a crack. You felt Rebekah's searing gaze in your bones. And in some way, it made you feel safe. And damn you when you didn't know why...

"So vampire Elena is a trollop who likes bad boys, but it doesn’t explain why sweet, loving, innocent Elena could be so heartless towards Y/N. How could she hurt her like that? Answer, please." The Original said, looking at Stefan.

He sighed as he spoke. "She didn't know it at the time, but she was sired to Damon."

Rebekah smirked. "A sire bond? That’s fascinating. And what do you think about that, Elena?"

Elena spat at her, "I think you’re sad. And bored. And in desperate need of a hobby."

It angered but didn't deter the blonde. She compelled the Gilbert. "You're hiding something. Fess up."

"I didn’t sleep with Damon because I’m sired. I slept with him because I’m in love with him," she spoke in such a way as if she were proud of what she'd done. That was the last straw.

"Fuck you." You spat with so much hatred and venom, that no more words were needed to convey the message: we're over. Then you spun on your heel and stormed out, carrying a kaleidoscope of emotions and the weight of Rebekah's lingering gaze.

You didn't know it at the moment, but you and Elena breaking up might just be the best thing that has happened to the Mikaelson...

It was nearly midnight, and you were at your house alone. You ate an entire tub of vanilla ice-cream, and now you were feeling guilty about it. You could have downed that bottle of Jack and Daniel hidden in your closet, but you decided you were not going to surrender to Damon's coping mechanisms.

Your room looked like a lowkey brothel, complete with silk sheets, roses, scented candles, and dim lighting. Hell, you were dressed in flimsy lace pyjamas, finding them extremely comfortable. But in your taste, it was a much-deserved self-care session.

Flipping through the pages of an erotic novel for the past hour, you got bored. It was so smutty, all the protagonists seemed to do was have sex. You grew irritated, your sex life was in shambles.

Suddenly, the bell rang. At this odd hour, you thought it would be Caroline stopping by with some ridiculously expensive cosmetics for a girl's night in, a not-so-subtle attempt of hers to comfort you. You might've hated Caroline at the moment for keeping Elena's secret, but you guessed you could live with it.

Every pore of your being protested when you rose, wrapped your robe around yourself and climbed down the stairs to open the door. The last person you were expecting to show up on your door was Rebekah Mikaelson.

Your heart skipped a beat. She looked so hot. Like get on your knees right now hot in those tight jeans and spaghetti top. For the first time ever, you could admire her classic, almost divine, beauty without any inhibitions or restrictions. For the first time, you really seemed to take her in. And gods, she was a sight for sore eyes. And damn you for wanting to bite that red lip and tear off her clothes.

You snapped out of it when she smirked. The look in her eyes made you weak in the knees. You knew that she knew of the effect she had over you.

You cleared your throat. "Rebekah, was an entirely unexpected surprise. How can I help you?"

She smiled. "Well, for starters, you could invite me inside..."

You knew it was dangerous. But you were so desperately praying for something to happen. You didn't care about the consequences. You wanted her so bad, you felt it in your bones, the desire running deep in your veins.

"Alright, would you like to come in?"

She looked surprised for a moment that you gave in so easily. But then she smiled wide and said, "I would love to." Then she stepped inside. Your heart hammered crazily in anticipation.

"Where shall I keep these?" She asked, holding up her arms. Then you noticed that she had a couple of bags looped in her arms. "I brought wine and something to munch."

You softened. "Oh, you didn't need to..."

"Oh, of course I do." She smiled softly.

You helped her with the bags to the kitchen. "Rebekah, this is a lot..." you began but she waved you off. You couldn't believe that an Original vampire was in your house in the middle of the night, who brought very costly wine and snacks to last an entire month. The blonde standing in front of you was the supposed nemesis of your friends, but what happened today was your defense.

"But why?"

"Well, that doppelganger bitch hurt you, and I was the one who meddled and you found out like this. So I guess I owed you one."

"No, no! I owe you one. I probably wouldn't have known for a longer period of time and that would've been so pathetic."

"Still... well, I hate her and you do too. So I thought that it's not such a bad idea to bond over our mutual loathing for her and maybe plot our revenge?" She said with that cute little smirk, making me laugh.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Nothing cheesy."

"You think so? Elena ought to be the cheesiest girlfriend ever."

She rolled her eyes. "Thought so,".

"Come on,"

You guided her upstairs to your bedroom, and you were really, really nervous. Your heart was beating so loudly that you knew all too well that she could hear it.

Rebekah was in a frenzy of lust and excitement. She'd dreamt of this a little too many times and now it was real. You were the loveliest creature she'd ever encountered and she thought that you were really strong, funny and protective. And she really seemed to enjoy the not-so-decent outfit you were clad in.

The blonde glanced around your room and smirked in an almost-appreciative way. You felt a bit embarrassed about your clothes and your room, but hey, we all have those moments.

You put on a thriller on your laptop as you both sat comfortably on your post bed, with a huge bowl of chips to snack on.

About an hour must have passed in comfortable silence, and your dirty thoughts were put to rest for a while too as you focused on the complex plot of the movie. Then your patience was about to be tested.

An intimate scene was displayed on the screen and you froze. You became antsy as your thighs came in contact with Rebekah's hand. The tension in the room could be cut through with a knife. Your unbridled lust and roaring desire for her was consuming you and you couldn't control yourself as you turned to face her.

She was thinking the same thing as you and your lips collided. Your tongues fought for dominance as you explored every corner of her mouth, her doing the same.

It was a passionate, rough, and all-consuming kiss that had you moaning in her mouth and both of you had your eyes closed in bliss. She cupped your face while your hands tangled themselves in her golden locks.

It was so exhilarating, and you had just kissed... you were almost scared to know where the night would lead you.

Your lungs burned for oxygen but kissing her seemed the best way to die. Finally, you parted, gasping for air.

"That was..." you began, panting.

"Amazing," she finished, holding your eyes. You leaned in for another kiss, but she beat you to it. You kissed her senseless and your hands seemed to have a mind of their own as you began undressing her. Kissing her was your new favourite thing to do.

Her lips moulded perfectly into yours. The purpose of your life was to be hers, and at that very moment, everything was forgotten. She followed your actions and undid the flimsy lace and pushed you down, making you lie down.

The two of you were completely bare as your eyes met. You could drown and die in the blue ocean of her eyes. It was like being reborn. Her eyes held a challenge, promised an adventure and you reveled in the anticipation, the thrill and in her amorousness.

She raked her eyes all over your body and your every pore, every limb shook in bliss and ecstasy. "Damn, you're gorgeous..."

You smiled in satisfaction at her words and pulled her down to mesh your lips together.

Her lips slowly moved down to your neck, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of love bites all over. Lewd, wet sounds filled your ears as you flushed. She was a heady mixture. Slowly, very slowly, she moved down to the little dent at the base of your neck, then placed ticklish, feather-light kisses on your prominent collarbone. She kissed and licked through the valley of your breasts, down to your navel and your sensitive lower stomach.

She placed kisses along your waistline, making you gasp and moan into the silk-covered pillows. Your toes curled in pleasure when you felt her hot breath fanning over your womanhood. She had barely begun and you were already dripping wet.

The blonde moved down to kiss your inner thighs. So close but not giving you what you want.

"Rebekah, please..." you pleaded with her. Her eyes were a mixture of lust and amusement. "Please what?"

"Touch me!"

"Where?" She was such a tease. You grew frustrated and you grabbed her hand and guided it between your parted thighs. A loud, throaty gasp escaped your mouth as her fingers worked their magic upon your wet, slippery folds. You almost tore the sheets your fingers were gripping and you buried your face into the pillows to muffle your moans. But you decided against it. You wanted her to hear you. You wanted her to know just how good she was making you feel. Your body was so responsive to her touches .

Just then, her fingers hit that spot and you cried out in pure pleasure. You felt the pleasure building up and the sounds leaving your mouth resonated in every nook and corner of your house.

"Do you want me to stop?" she questioned innocently, but you knew all too well. "Shut up," you barely managed to say between your uncontrollable moans.

You wanted to tell her that you were going to reach your release, but the pleasure was too much and all you could think about was how good she was.

You started shaking and almost screaming as you reached your precipice. You quite literally saw stars as you came. Rebekah's gaze upon you was that of pure worship as she licked her fingers which were coated with your arousal. Then she leaned in to kiss you deeply and you could taste yourself on her lips. "You're so pretty..." she whispered, almost as if in a daze. You smiled and grabbed her my the arms, helping her lie down.

"My turn now," you spoke, aspiring to make her feel as good as she made you feel. You pulled her in for another searing kiss as you parted her thighs. Moving down, you maintained eye contact as you stuck out your tongue and tasted her. You'd never heard anything sexier than the gasp that left her lips when you did.

Soon, your tongue circled and lapped over her folds. Her throaty moans were music to your ears. You pulled back just when she was about to reach her high, deciding to use your fingers. Her sweet moans might as well would've been heard by the neighbours as you pleasured her all night long and to the breaking of dawn.

You both lay bare barring the sheet covering you as you watched the sun rise. To you, it felt surreal and as if it were a dream.

"I've wanted this for so long," Rebekah softly confessed. "When I met you first, I thought you were really pretty, like a royal. Your wit and wordplay is unmatched. I love how strong you are, how you don't need anyone to fight for yourself and how you're so ambitious. But you were with Elena and-" you silenced her with a kiss.

"You've no idea for how long I've wanted this too. But I'm afraid that with the arrival of the dawn, I'd wake up and all of this would be nothing but a dream." You spoke softly.

"Trust me, your screams last night were very real,"

You laughed as you kissed her. She pulled you into her arms for another round. And sure enough, the hickeys covering you were very real...

[mclacedes]

A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER I: Taste Karma.

hello beautiful babes! here's a little something i've been wanting to write for a while now and just flew out of me randomly!! hope you enjoy this and hope this makes any sense at all :)

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘24, lewis leaving mercedes, lewis in ferrari, lack of XNDA songs, partner moving on.

“it isn't only how he died, but that he died believing. and so i try to be kind to everything i see. and in everything i see, i see him.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, “A Little Life”

this is slightly inspired by Hanya Yanagihara's book "A Little Life", but THIS IS NOT A RECOMMENDATION from me and THIS DOES NOT mean I like that book at all !!!

also, there's a part II for it, so lmk if you like it :)

End of season. Last race. Last race with Mercedes.

This was the end of an era, but the start of an age. A new chapter in this long book, filled with broken records and (un)fulfilled dreams.

There was only last thing he wanted though. A thing he’d never done.

To release an album.

+44, his first album, would come out in a few hours and nobody even knew it.

Lewis had poured countless hours into it, refining each lyric, melody, and harmony until every note fitted just right.

Every detail was thoroughly planned, every step thoughtfully envisioned. The photoshoot was booked, the interview responses rehearsed, the songs were ready. But one day, he realized the only thing that should be put together — his very self — was melting, breaking apart into millions of pieces of longing, sorrow, wrath and regret.

This should be a moment of fun, a moment of celebration, but the only thing he’d think about is how this album only exists because, at one point, he had you — the best thing that ever happened to him, his confidant, his partner in crime.

But, as of now, there's no you in his life and, apparently, no space for him in yours.

Now you’re a fading echo, a ghost haunting every inch of his life, lurking in the back of his mind so he can get a glimpse of your broken-hearted gaze in your salted-water-drowned eyes when he closes his.

Your laugh still echoes through the paddocks around the world; he still knows every word of the prayer you’d mutter every time he climbed into the cockpit. You are in his houses, cars, clothes, and everything he is now—a wreckage.

There's a simple routine he follows, absentmindedly, now that you're gone: he smiles when he sees you in a small detail of his life; then his heart tightens painfully, suffocating him. When the stars fall at night, he lies awake in the darkness of his room and his own mind, clutching the pillow you once slept on, desperately trying to grasp some semblance of solace and familiarity. Lewis lingers there, until your vanilla scent fades away completely as he drifts into the restless awareness of his subconscious—his dreams, in which you've never left and still loved him. In his perfect, tailor-made utopia, you can bring yourself to look into his eyes and say you forgive him.

But reality has other plans. Like always.

He just wanted to get through today.

Yes, the Universe is vast and gracious, munificent and indulgent, and Lewis knows this. But, today, his last race with Mercedes in a track that holds so much memory, the Universe had made its mind: the winds of fate would play a trick on him.

This morning, after waking from a dream of you in your favorite park in France, laughing about babies and tracing shapes in the clouds, he never imagined he’d want to leave the paddock as soon as he entered it.

On the drive to Yas Marina, it hadn’t crossed his mind that he might see you, hand in hand with that one actor—Jensen Ackles—who you used to gush over.

As he signed caps, mini helmets, and photos for his fans, not for a single moment did he expect to catch sight of you in the paddock, wearing rosso corsa, cheering on Ferrari—Ferrari, of all teams. The same red team you used to roll your eyes at. The same red team that the man beside you had so often boasted about supporting. The same team that he had signed a contract with.

None of it had been his choice, and yet his entire body betrayed him the moment his eyes landed on you; as though someone had fastened his feet to the ground, he was unable to walk. He not only couldn’t move, but he felt like air didn't get to his lungs so he couldn't breathe, and there was nothing more interesting than the scene in from of him so he couldn’t look away.

For a second there, he wished you were ugly. He wished your eyes didn’t glisten when you honestly found something funny, that your dress didn't perfectly frame your body, and your teeth were broken. He wished there were flaws he could cling to, reasons to justify hating you; he wished he could have the strength within himself to fall out of love. But you were too unattainable for him to let go.

And, God, you were glowing. Your smile beamed, your hair fell perfectly just the way he likes it, and then—what. is. that?

Your hand laid slightly over your belly.

Your left hand rested on your belly, right where your womb would be.

Your left hand, with its delicate fingers, bore a ring—a massive diamond that caught the sunlight in a cruel, mocking glint.

And then there was him. Jensen Ackles, the so-called antichrist, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around you like you belonged to him. His hold was possessive, unyielding, as though he’d fight tooth and nail to keep you. But he did seem like he was happy. And the worst part about it is that you seemed too.

Lewis’s heart rate spiked, pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing faster than the W15 ever could.

“Is she pregnant? They're engaged? Are they married already? When is the baby due?”

And then, just before he turned away, one final thought slipped through the chaos in his mind: taste karma.

[midnight-bay-if]

So, combining the sleeping on the couch ask with the having a key to Alek's place one... how would Alek react to finding the MC asleep on his couch due to nightmares and not wanting to be alone at their own place, so they went to his in the middle of the night to not be alone entirely while they slept?

(I probably should have answered a long number of asks before getting to this one since I have some really old ones in my backlog, but this is precisely the kind of ask I needed to get me out of a slump I've been experiencing. So, thank you :))

Alek doesn't sleep much. He hasn't for a long fucking time. Most would assume his penchant for working through the night is the cause, but his work is a symptom, not the cause. Truthfully, he brings his work home to keep his mind occupied because the alternative is lying awake, staring at the ceiling, picturing a life unlived and the cold, empty space beside him.

But exhaustion always catches up with him eventually. A blink turns into slumber, and he slips into oblivion for a desperately needed rest, only to startle awake a couple of hours later. Alek groans, rubbing his eyes before turning to look at the alarm clock beside his bed. 2:03 am. He sighs, unsurprised by the early hour, and kicks off the blanket to quench his parched throat.

He pauses at the threshold of his bedroom door. Something feels off, and his hackles rise. All five senses go into overdrive as he tries to make sense of his instincts. Then, he sees you.

He finds you curled up, hugging a threadbare cushion, as you squeeze yourself onto his couch. The ache he has carried in his chest since the moment of James's death twinges at the sight, and once more, he is reminded of how hopelessly out of his depth he remains. James was always the softer one—ever with his quick wit and practised patience, the first to offer a comforting shoulder or a playful distraction.

"You're an impossible figure to live up to," he whispers, knowing he will be met with nothing but silence.

Alek squares their shoulders in preparation, then bends down to hook a hand beneath your knees and neck before lifting you into his arms. It's been a long time since he has done this, and he must take extra care not to jostle you awake, but you're as light to him now as you were when you were seven years old.

Despite his care, he isn’t sure whether you've woken, but if you have, you say nothing; your eyes remain shut as he navigates his small apartment, cradling you gently in his arms, fearing you might vanish like the visions of those he has lost when he daringly reaches for them.

"It's okay, kid," he says gently as he lowers you down on the side of his bed, still made. "I've got you." He peels back his covers, bringing the blankets to your chin and tucks you in tight. It doesn't matter how much older you get, how you mature, or how brave you become... It's in the moments of quiet, of vulnerability and serenity, that Alek peers at you and still sees that same child tugging at his shirt sleeves, hoping the world they wake up to tomorrow will be better than the one they fell asleep in.

"Tomorrow, kid. We'll fix it tomorrow."

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (NSFW)

Part 2 (part 1 here)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: This took a while, but it's finally here. And good news, I've got most of part 3 written already! In this part, Larissa and reader enter the vicious circle of both thinking the other one don't want them like /that/. We might be in for some slow burn, people! Hope you’ll enjoy! <3

You startled awake, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead and an unpleasant, incessant throbbing between your legs. You had dreamt of her, again.

It had been four days since you’d met with Larissa, and you’d been having those wet dreams ever since.

It always started the same way, you’d go through the evening you’d shared at the restaurant, and everything was exactly the same except for what happened when she’d drop you off at your place. You’d invite her in and she’d agree to follow you. You’d barely have time to step into your flat when her lips would attach themselves to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh and making you lose all sense of time and space.

The rest of the dream would happen very quickly, Larissa would have you on any surface of your flat she’d see fit - which had included your sofa, the wall, the kitchen counter and your dining table. She’d hike up your dress and get rid of the lacy thong she’d bought you, shoving it inside her handbag.

“Don’t pout, sweetling,” she’d whisper in your ear, her slender fingers finding their way to your heat. “I promise to buy you more.”

You could only writhe and whimper as she teased you, her digits moving in excruciating slow circles on your clit until she’d decide you’d have had enough and would push two of her fingers knuckle deep inside you, making your breath hitch in a loud gasp.

Larissa’s eyes would never leave your face as she’d relentlessly pound into you. She delighted in the way the right corner of your mouth twitched with each thrust of her fingers, how your brows furrowed deeper and deeper each time she stroked that sweet spot inside you.

You would feel the coil tightening dangerously behind your navel, bringing you closer to your well-deserved release as you’d beg your lover to keep going. Please, Larissa, please, please, please.

And then you’d wake up. You’d find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your core aching from another ruined orgasm.

You groaned loudly as you peeled yourself from your bed and headed to the bathroom, taking a single glance at your dishevelled form in the mirror before shedding your pyjamas and stepping in the shower.

How easy it would be, to slip your hand between your legs and give yourself the release that you’d been denied for the last four days. But it wouldn’t be right. You didn’t want this, whatever this was between Larissa and yourself, to turn into something sexual. She would provide you with money and you would provide her with company, as you had both agreed on. Nothing more.

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table right as you walked back into your bedroom to get dressed. You didn’t need to check it to know who it was, Larissa had been sending you good morning texts for the last few days.

You finished getting ready for the day before picking up your phone to read her message.

Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well! Have a good day. Xx

You were almost tempted to tell her you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days but eventually refrained from doing so.

Good morning! Slept okay, hope you did too. Have a lovely day :)

You shoved your phone into your bag and hurried out of your flat, knowing you wouldn’t be getting another text from Larissa.

She’d text you once in the morning, then once or twice around noon when, you supposed, she was on her lunch break. After that, you wouldn’t be getting any news until at least 6 pm. At least, because once she hadn’t texted you before 8. You still didn’t know what her job was, but you couldn’t imagine being up at six in the morning only to finish your day so late at night.

As expected, you didn’t receive any more text until your own lunch break. You were out at a local cafe with your best friend, munching on your sandwich when your phone buzzed on the table.

Thinking of you, sweetling. Xx

A blush crept up your cheeks which you desperately tried hiding by taking a sip of water, but it wasn’t lost on your best friend.

“Is that your woman?” She smirked.

“Larissa is not my woman.”

“Oh right, sorry. Is that your sugar mommy, then?”

“Shut your mouth!” You groaned, swatting your friend’s arm.

You had told her about your evening with Larissa. Well, most of it. You didn’t mention the lacy thong or the fact that she’d picked your food.

“You still don’t want to do it?” She snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Her.”

You rolled your eyes and put your sandwich down, wrapping it in its paper bag to finish it later.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to feel like I’m selling my body for money.” You explained for what seemed to be the fifteenth time that week.

“Oh, come on! I would let a woman like her fuck me for free any time she wants.”

“Don’t be crass,” you said, shoving your sandwich into your bag. “Larissa is not like that, and neither am I. Now move, we need to get back to class.”

You typed in a quick answer to Larissa as you walked into your next class and sat down at your usual desk.

Thinking of you too. Wanna call tonight? I’d love to hear your voice and have a chat. No worries if not :)

Larissa was pouring herself a cup of coffee, her fourth that day, when she read your answer. You wanted to call her, to hear her voice. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she sipped on her coffee and texted you back.

I would love that. I’ll text you when I’m done working. Xx

And so she did. You had been home for a couple of hours when your phone started ringing, making you run from the kitchen to the sofa to make sure you’d get it in time.

“Larissa! Hi!”

“Hello, darling. I hope it’s not too late?” Her British accent filled your flat as you pressed on the speaker button.

“No, no it’s not. Did you have a good day?” Truth be told, she did sound a little tired but you would never dare to bring it up.

“It was alright, not the worst day I’ve ever had.” She chuckled lowly, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s a good day now, though. It’s nice to hear you.”

“It’s nice to hear you too, I thought it’d be better and easier than just texting back and forth.”

“Mhm…” Larissa hummed and you heard the distinctive ‘pop’ of a bottle being opened.

“Wine?” You asked, earning another chuckle from the woman on the phone.

“Red. Just one glass to help me relax.”

She needed it. She really needed it after the stunt that Wednesday had pulled that day.

“I wish I could share one with you,” you said, hearing Larissa pouring the wine into a glass.

“Do you?” Her voice seemed to have dropped an octave, and you wondered if her nostrils had flared like they’d done back at the restaurant.

“Yes, yes I do. I’d let you pick the wine, of course. I’d watch you pour it and wait for you to bring the glass to my lips.”

Larissa let out a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling extremely hot in her shirt. Her fingers swiftly moved to take care of unbuttoning the constricting piece of clothing, leaving her in a white bralette.

“Larissa?” You called when she hadn’t answered for a while.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. Simply lost in my thoughts.” Larissa admitted before taking a sip of wine.

“Are you thinking of me again?” You asked, deciding to try your luck.

Wine dribbled from the corner of Larissa’s mouth, rolling down her chin to quickly drip onto her chest. It would leave a stain, Larissa thought as she watched the crimson liquid soaking the lacy fabric of her bralette.

“Would you like that? Me thinking of you?” She eventually answered after another long silence.

“Maybe, yes.”

There was another silent moment as Larissa took another couple sips of wine before placing her glass on the coffee table.

She sighed loudly, wanting nothing more than to hike up her skirt and let her fingers explore her sex. It was such a shame that you weren’t interested in being intimate with her, she would have loved to listen to your heavy breathing as you’d touch yourself on the other side of the phone.

“I want to take you shopping this weekend, if you’re free,” She eventually said.

“Shopping?”

“Lingerie shopping, specifically. I want to treat you to a couple of sets. Would you be interested in that, sweetling?”

“Yes! Yes, I would love that. I’ve never really been lingerie shopping before.” But you wouldn’t pass on such an opportunity.

“Good. How about you call your work tomorrow, and let them know you won’t be able to be there on Saturday? I’ll take care of you.”

You knew what she meant by that, she’d hand you another one of those envelopes filled with a couple hundred dollars.

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good.” Larissa sighed again.

She had emptied her glass, her right hand was groping at her body while the other one kept the phone pressed to her ear. She’d have to hang up soon, before she’d start fucking herself.

“Larissa?” You called again.

“Mhm? Yes, darling?”

“I should go, still need to take a shower and get everything ready for tomorrow… It was so nice to hear you, I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Any time you want, you only need to text me.”

“I will.” You promised. “Well, have a good night, Larissa.”

“Have a good night, darling.” She answered, biting her tongue as she thought of adding think of me.

You listened to her breathing for another second before hanging up and dropping yourself on your sofa.

God, that woman was hot. Her voice through the phone had made you soaking wet and it had taken everything within you to keep your hand out of your pants.

Back in her quarters, Larissa didn’t have as much self-control as you did. Her skirt had been hiked as soon as you had hung up, her legs parting to let her move her panties to the side.

“Oh, darling…” She breathed out as she eventually let her fingertips brush on her clit.

You had bewitched her, it seemed. If she didn’t know any better, Larissa would have wondered if you maybe were a siren.

The tall woman was halfway through fucking herself, the coil in her lower stomach tightening with each thrust of her fingers, when she suddenly realised how wrong this was.

She immediately pulled her fingers out of herself, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. You had made it clear that you didn’t want to have sex with her, and it wasn’t right for her to be touching herself thinking of you.

Larissa made her way over to the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands, eventually opting for a full cold shower to clear her mind from any more sinful thoughts.

As you both got into bed that night, only a few miles away from each other, you both shared the same thought.

How on earth am I going to survive a lingerie shopping session with her?

———————————————————————

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[paracosm-draw]

omg PLEASE do "a surprise kiss during laughter, when one just can’t help it anymore and finally caves", i need silly fluff in my life

I'm back from my 48h of hell (night shifts at the hospital) and I finally slept enough to be able to answer all the asks !

I've got two asks for this prompt, so here we go nonnies ☀️ It starts with a little bit of angst but don't worry it has a very happy ending 😌 Hope you'll like it 💕

---

The weeks after the death of the Duchess Kryze had been the longest ones Anakin had had to endure in a while. Time seemed to stretch on and on until he was feeling worn out even though he wasn't the one in mourning. In the short time he had met Satine, he had appreciated her for her sense of duty, her wit rivaling Obi-Wan’s and the fact that she wasn’t afraid to take controversial but necessary decisions in order to act for her people instead of getting bogged down in endless, pointless debates. He appreciated her but he didn't know her. Not like Obi-Wan did. 

Anakin knew that he was grieving. In his own way and at his own pace. He wouldn't admit it and he wouldn’t talk about it - not that Anakin knew how to approach the delicate subject - but he was grieving. He was grieving a long-time friend and a confidant in the eyes of the majority of people. For Anakin, he was also grieving a more secret, more intimate thing he kept carefully locked inside of his heart, a thing Anakin could only guess from rare and meager clues, since he didn’t have the key to said heart. 

At first, he had tried to deal with the situation like he had when he had lost his mother. Mourning was an universal experience, after all. People probably grieved all the same, he thought. He remembered how angry he’d been at the time. How it had led to one of the worst decisions of his life. How the anger hadn’t subsided after that, but seeped deeper inside of his bones, left to rot, dormant but never gone. He had thought then, that Obi-Wan might be angry too.

It turned out Obi-Wan wasn't angry. He was sad and nostalgic, which was worse. Worse because Anakin had no clue about how to deal with that, with something other than anger, with something that didn’t push him to action but rather kept him still. He had no idea about what Obi-Wan needed. Was it comfort ? Was it loneliness ? Was it something else ? Someone else ? Someone who knew exactly what words to say, what level of physical touch to use, when to take him out and when to leave him in peace ? Someone who knew how to bring back to life the beloved spark that had quietly died down in Obi-Wan's eyes ?

Someone who was not Anakin. Anakin who didn’t know what to say and how to comfort and when to let go. Anakin who was too much or never enough, and who wanted nothing more than to take his pain away and to make it his own, to curl up around Obi-Wan like a loyal tooka and stay there until his heart unbroke on its own. 

So that's what he decided to do. He stayed there, by his side. Awkwardly, most of the time. Refusing mission after mission to keep an eye on him and inventing excuses after excuses when Obi-Wan asked him about it. He stayed and watched, willing to continue doing so until Obi-Wan got annoyed and sent him off. It hadn’t happened yet so Anakin kept watching. Maybe a little too much- 

“Anakin, be caref-” 

Obi-Wan's exclamation got lost in the impact that rattled through Anakin’s skull as he walked straight into a pole, in the middle of Coruscant’s crowded streets. The shock sent him down on his butt as an acute wave of pain traveled from his forehead to the back of his neck, making his vision blur and his ears ring for a second. 

“Oh dear, are you alright ?!” 

Obi-Wan had crouched next to him, a supporting hand on his shoulder. Anakin blinked and turned his head to him, his forehead pounding unpleasantly.

“Uh…” 

He didn't know what was the most humiliating, to be honest. The fact that he didn’t see that pole because he was - once again - too busy staring at Obi-Wan, the obvious bump slowly starting to grow on his forehead or the fact that Obi-Wan was… laughing ? Or trying not to, at least. But the way his eyes crinkled on the corners and the effort he put on biting his lips betrayed him. Not the reaction Anakin expected. He tilted his head on the side, confused and clearly dumbstruck, and that exact thing was what seemed to be the last straw for Obi-Wan Kenobi, poised and respectable Master Jedi in mourning. 

He burst out laughing. Not the polite and discrete laugh he gave politicians with his hand above his mouth, not the occasional chuckles he graced Anakin when he did or said something funny, but a true, bright laugh that came right from his chest, head thrown back and teeth in display. His whole body shook with the strength of it, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes before spilling along his cheeks, a blush spreading from the tip of his ears to the collar of his tabard. He laughed like he was unable to stop and Anakin stared, bewildered, all pain and humiliation forgotten in favor of absolute awe. 

He didn’t remember when he’d seen Obi-Wan laugh like that for the last time. If  he even had. But from now on it would be his number one priority. Obi-Wan looked… free, like that. Younger, unburdened, happy. Gorgeous. Something violent stirred in Anakin's chest, something he had spent years trying to tame and bury. To forget. Something which now ferociously clawed at the inside of his ribcage to get out, drawn by that laugh that sounded like a miracle.  

"I'm- I'm sorry, A- Anakin. It's just-" Obi-Wan hiccupped, then doubled over with laughter, teeth flashing and tears spilling.

The beast in Anakin's chest roared. He leaned forward, his hands finding the strong lines of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and stole the marvelous sound directly from his source. He wasn’t thinking, not really, rather acting on instinct. Obi-Wan stopped laughing with a surprised gasp, which was the opposite of what Anakin was trying to achieve, really. He froze but didn’t try to push him away, so Anakin pressed his lips tighter against his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

A lifetime might have passed, or probably just the blink of an eye, when Obi-Wan moved again, a gentle hand cupping Anakin’s jaw. His mouth moved against his own, not to kiss back but to pronounce a little word that meant everything for Anakin when it came from Obi-Wan. His name. Uncertain. Questioning.

“Anakin…” 

The warmth of his breath tingled Anakin’s lips, who opened his mouth to let out his own, short and shaky. Their mouths brushed, soft and parted, and Anakin pushed forward to fit them together again. The fingers on his jaw strengthened, not to stop him but to pull him closer, he realized in wonder when lips pressed back against his own. The hand on his face traveled to the back of his neck, curling around the base of his hair and holding him tight. Anakin sighed softly against the touch, moving his own hand to cup the side of Obi-Wan’s face, fingers grazing against the edge of his beard as their mouths tentatively discovered each other. 

It feels right, was the first thought crossing Anakin’s mind. The way they fitted together, the taste of his own spit on Obi-Wan’s lips, the gentle burn of his mustache against his mouth, the sweet noises they drew from each other. More than that, the way their dormant bond had ignited alive at the faintest brush of their lips, the way their Force signatures had curled up against each other, so tightly entangled they couldn't tell where Anakin’s was starting and where Obi-Wan's was ending. The synchronization of their pulse. The light trembling of their bodies. The fact that they stayed intertwined after breaking the kiss, breathing in each other’s space like it was the only source of oxygen. 

Anakin slipped his fingers behind Obi-Wan’s ears, pressing his forehead against his as his thumb gently caressed his cheekbone. 

“I want to hear you laugh like that again.” He murmured. 

Obi-Wan let out a chopped breath which sounded suspiciously like a disbelieving chuckle. 

“Even at the expense of your pretty head ?” 

“I would gladly hit my head on every pole I see, if it’s what it takes.” Anakin answered fiercely, maybe a little too much, but he was rewarded with a laugh. Another. He preciously bottled it in a corner of his mind.

“Ridiculous boy.” Obi-Wan shook his head fondly and brushed the tip of his fingers around the bump ornating his forehead. “You didn’t have to go to such extremes, you know ? I’d rather you keep that lovely face of yours unharmed.” 

Anakin shrugged, but before he got the chance to think about a clever answer, Obi-Wan leaned in and pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, making his mind go blank. Again. 

“We should pay a visit to the Halls of Healing, just to make sure you don't have a concussion.” Obi-Wan decided. 

“Uh- Yeah, sure.” Anakin answered dumbly, feeling strangely dizzy and rather hot all of the sudden. 

“Great.” Obi-Wan grinned. He gently placed another kiss on his temple before grabbing his arm to help him get up. “Let’s go, before you realize.” 

Realize what, Anakin didn’t really know. But he would gladly follow Obi-Wan to the depths of Hell if he kept kissing him like that. 

[froggiewrites]

Hello! I was wondering if i could request a Zoro or a Law x gn! or m!reader with angst? They are in a fight and reader kinda ignores them and hides from them and Zoro or Law realize how in love they are with the reader? Can end however you want!

Sorry I've been so slow on requests, writer's block hit me pretty hard this week! I chose Zoro with a gn!reader for this one, it just seemed to fit him pretty well (man is not good with his emotions). I hope you enjoy it!

A Bridge Too Far

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: Zoro is terrible at handling his frustrations, and you're tired of being his punching bag. He doesn't realize what he's lost until it's gone. Warnings: Angst, Zoro being a bad boyfriend, not a happy but possibly a hopeful ending? Word Count: 2.3k

Like most of your arguments with Zoro, he started it.

He always starts it, even when he doesn’t want to. When his frustrations start to bubble, he can’t help but lash out at whoever’s closest, and that’s normally you. You’re always there, waiting for him, and you never hold it against him once he calms down. Frankly, they’re less arguments and more one-sided furious rants, as you never rise to the provocation. So he doesn’t think much of it when he snaps at you again after a particularly tough battle, one that left a buzzing under his skin and a strain in his muscles that he couldn’t shake. You wouldn’t mind. You never did.

A few minutes after you follow him to the training room, sitting quietly in the corner while he readies his swords, he finally snaps. “Will you just leave me alone for once? How am I supposed to relax with you trailing after me like this?”

You don’t just sit there and take it like you always do. You don’t just get up and leave, ready to come back when he’s calmer. You stare at him a moment, not radiating fury or indignation, simply…disappointment. Weariness. “Again?”

“What?” He snaps.

“We’re doing this again? Really?” You seem completely composed and calm. It infuriates him more than snapping ever could.

“What do you mean, doing this again? You following me around like a lovesick puppy? Yeah, I guess we are.” He hits the target in front of him harder, sending splintering wood everywhere. The sound of it pierces his brain, rattling around, making him feel even worse.

You sigh, sounding horribly burdened and beaten down. “You know what? Sure. Whatever. I’ll leave you alone, Zoro, if that’s what you want. But this is the last time. I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

He grits his teeth. “Won’t put up with this? Shouldn’t that be my line?”

Your eye twitches, finally a show of emotion, a show that he’s affecting you. “I’m not your punching bag, Zoro. I’m not here for you to use to work off your adrenaline instead of learning to deal with your emotions like an adult. I’m supposed to be someone you care about.” You finally stand, gathering your things and turning to leave. You don’t look back at him as you call, “You’re going to regret this, but I won’t.”

The door slamming echoes through the room, sounding horribly…final.

He ignores it.

It takes a few hours for him to finally wind down, for the buzzing to quiet and leave nothing but a blissful silence. He doesn’t bother cleaning up the wood all over the floor, or taking a shower to rid himself off all of the sweat. He has only one thought: his bed, warm and soft and welcoming. If he’s lucky, you’ll be in it, waiting for him to hold you close and kiss your face, the closest thing he’s ever given to an apology. He eagerly makes his way to the Sunny’s sleeping quarters, opening the door slowly to the cacophony of snores coming from Luffy and Franky, accompanied by Sanji, Chopper, and Usopp’s quiet breathing. Brook is still on deck, on watch for the night, so it makes sense his bunk is empty, but Zoro notices your bed is also suspiciously clear. Even your pillow and blanket are gone, the sheets not even wrinkled, as though no one had ever slept there at all.

A small part of him tells him he should check on you, make sure you’re alright. But a much larger, louder part is crying out for rest, and he cannot help but give in, falling face first onto his mattress without even changing clothes. He’s asleep within seconds.

He’s alone when he wakes up. He doesn’t typically sleep very long, instead napping in short bursts throughout the day, but he can see the light pouring in under the door and he realizes he must have slept at least until noon. He’s shivering, still on top of his blanket. Usually when he falls asleep like this, you throw one of the extras in your locker over him, tucking him in like a child. You must not have come back in at all last night.

He ignores the uncomfortable feeling nipping at him, something he will not name. You’re fine. You’re an adult, and one night away from your bed doesn’t mean anything.

But then you aren’t at lunch.

Sanji is giving him dirty looks, and Nami is giving him the most foul side-eye he’s ever had the displeasure of receiving. The rest of the crew are trying to act normal, but Franky is suspiciously absent and Usopp is so nervous he keeps dropping everything he tries to pick up, ending in him spilling water all over himself and taking the excuse to “take a second to go change” and never come back.

He finally breaks after Sanji brings Nami another drink, takes an obvious glance at him, and they start to whisper to each other. He makes out the words idiot, asshole, and loser (the first two from Nami and the latter from Sanji), before he slams his fork down. “What? What is it?”

Nami turns to him, filled with the sort of righteous fury she only saved for those who dare hurt her friends. “God, Zoro, you don’t even know? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’re all acting weird as hell!”

Sanji jumps in. “Because you’re acting like a jerk and have the gall to pretend everything is normal, asshole! What the hell did you say to them yesterday?”

What he said to…oh. That feeling comes back again, and he furiously clamps down on it, replacing it with a significantly more comfortable and familiar indignance. “That’s none of your business, cook.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I think I deserve to know why I had to find them sleeping in the goddamn kitchen this morning, actually.”

In the kitchen? Of course. It’s the one place you knew he would never find you. He never went there other than mealtimes, avoiding the possibility of another stupid fight with Sanji when he wasn’t up for it. “How the hell should I know?”

“Are you still pretending you don’t know it’s your fault? They were bawling their eyes out after leaving the training room.” Nami’s even angrier than Sanji is, and Zoro genuinely thinks she might hit him. The smaller, more tender part of himself, the one he’s ignoring, wouldn’t even blame her.

But that part isn’t in charge today. “My relationship isn’t your goddamn business.”

“Relationship? You seriously think you still have one of those?”

His blood runs cold, but he forces the feeling away, standing up from the table and stalking off. “I don’t have to take this.”

Nami calls after him, “I hope they dump you!”

Sanji cries out soon after. “I hope you fall into the sea, asshole!”

Zoro could go look for you. Should, even. But he instead makes the trek to the crow’s nest, cherishing the quiet, the solitude, the safety of it.

But as he sits in what is usually his sanctuary, he begins to feel that itch beneath his skin. Quiet turns to unbearable silence, solitude turns to loneliness, safety turns to suffocation. He tries to close his eyes, to center himself, take control as he loves to do, but the moment he does he can see nothing but your face. He can almost feel your hands on his back, rubbing soothing circles while your voice gently shushes him. You were so good at that, calming him down right when he needed you. Giving him a patience he simply didn’t deserve.

A patience he had been taking for granted.

What would he do, if another man had made you cry? If someone else had raised their voice at you as he had, time and again?

Part of him tried to justify it. But I don’t mean it, some petulant part of himself cried. They know I don’t mean it.

But do you? And would it matter, anyway? He’s still shouting. You’re still taking it. How long can you perform the same song and dance before it stops being a performance?

He needs to apologize.

He just needs to find you first. You aren’t in the kitchen, though Sanji is, and he doesn’t even speak with him this time, just giving him a mean glare that would send a lesser man running. Zoro hates to admit he deserves it. You aren’t in your bed, and your things are still missing. Not in Chopper’s office. Not in the library. Not in the bathroom, though Robin is, and he has to take a moment to furiously apologize for not knocking while she laughs at him.

He can only think of a few more places to check when he remembers who was missing this morning.

Franky’s workshop is quieter than he’s ever heard it, only filled with the quiet clanking of a small hammer against an even smaller piece of metal. Franky is using his second set of hands to put together some clockwork trinket, a significantly more delicate project that he usually takes on. Zoro is confused only for a moment, then he sees you, eyes intensely watching, and he realizes what’s going on. Franky has taken you in today, chosen something simple and small to distract you, to allow you to participate in some way. He’s always been great at small comforts like this, allowing someone the peace of his presence without worrying about being a burden.

Zoro could learn a lot from him.

Franky clearly knows he’s there, shoulders tensing slightly, but he doesn’t speak, waiting for one of you to take the first step. You don’t seem to notice either, too enraptured by the small metal bird in Franky’s hands, a look of wonder on your face that makes Zoro’s heart skip despite himself.

“Hi.” He cringes the moment he speaks, the peace shattering instantly. Franky doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, but he can practically feel the wince that must be on his face from the lame opener. Your head shoots up like a frightened rabbit, every part of you tense and ready to run. You pull in on yourself, making yourself smaller, like if you’re lucky he might miss you entirely, move on to the next prey. He puts up his hands, the first and only act of surrender he has ever performed, before continuing. “Can we talk? In private?”

You look to Franky, and Zoro doesn’t know what the look you two exchange means, but it makes you get up and approach. You give him a wide berth, not even coming within a foot of him, but you nod at him briefly to indicate he should follow. However small of a gesture it is, you’ve finally acknowledged him. That’s something.

You lead him back down to the training room, still covered in splintered wood and reeking of sweat. He can’t help but notice you didn’t pick a neutral location. You lead him somewhere he feels safe.

You turn to him. “Talk.”

He hesitates a moment, trying not to trip over himself and somehow make this work, but he can see that he’s finally reached the end of your apparently not-quite-infinite patience. “I’m…sorry.” He says the words through gritted teeth, feeling as though they burn his mouth as they leave. He doesn’t like to apologize in words, but in action. In gentle hands, in small acts he could deny later. He doesn’t know why it embarrasses him, to admit he was wrong. He is pretty often. But something about it makes him feel so small, so weak. But he can be small and weak for you, right now. No matter how much it hurts.

Your eyes widen, and you take the smallest step backwards. Shocked by him admitting for once he’s at fault. “You’re…sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at him, searching for some kind of trick, some hidden knife ready to plunge into your back. “For what?”

“For…for what? You know for what.” He winces at how defensive he sounds, at how you start to pull in on yourself again. “Sorry. Um. For yelling at you. For taking my anger out on you when you did nothing wrong. For how I always do that. I…I don’t know why I snap at you. And it’s wrong.”

“Yes, it is.” You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It isn’t fair of you to keep doing this. I tried letting it slide, because I know you just don’t know how to handle your feelings, that you aren’t coming from a place of malice. But that doesn’t make it okay. And you never stopped.” You turn your back to him, approaching a nearby window, staring out at the sea.

“I’m going to stop now. I swear it.”

“I won’t be with someone who speaks to me like that. I deserve better. You know I deserve better.” You’re trying to play tough, but he can hear the shake in your voice, and he realizes that just like yesterday you’ve only turned around so he can’t see the tears on your lashes.

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. “You do. I swear I’ll treat you like you deserve. If I ever talk to you like that again, I’ll fall on my own sword.”

“...Swords.”

“Huh?”

“Swords. All three.”

He chuckles despite himself. “Alright. I’ll fall on all three at the same time.”

“Good. …You deserve it.”

“I know.” A silence hangs in the air. “I love you.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t hug him back, and you’re still sniffling, but you let him hold you. That has to be enough for now.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece (if you saw I forgot the taglist when I first posted this no you didn't)

[wolfish-trickster]

The things vampires do for love

Yandere!Ascended Astarion x reader

Word count: 3.7K (a bit longer than planned, sorry)

Summary: he vowed to give you the world, his undying love, immortality even, but he hasn't given you happiness and regret has started to gnaw on you. You try to leave but Astarion has other plans...

Warnings: angst, yandere behaviour, typos/grammar mistakes

A/N: I've never written yandere personality before so I hope it's at least a bit similair 😅 enjoy

@thatpersonnamedrook

The setting sun has coloured the sky blood red. Mothers have called their playing offspring to come eat dinner, humans and creatures have slowly come home from a whole day of work, the whole world was preparing for their night's rest.

Except for you.

Cowering behind a dark tinted window protecting you from sun's painful rays, you observed the life below the palace that has become your home. It's become a custom for you to wake up before every other spawn. They may have forgotten what daylight feels like but not you. Sometimes you still sit on the stone cold windowsill, observe the living below, imagining yourself among them.

You sigh as you watch the sun as a big lightgreen ball, caused by the tinted glass, hide behind the hill.

"Well, good morning," you told yourself as you changed from your sleeping gown to a dress Astarion hinted at liking you in the most. Smoothing down the folds and creases on it you walked past the huge extravagant mirror on the wall. As usual you glanced into it, and as usual you saw nothing. One would get used to not seeing your reflection after all this time, but not you. What would you give to seeing your face one more time. No doubt covered with wrinkles by now, but it made you want to see it even more.

Granted, there was a huge portrait of you and your beloved in the entrance hall of the palace, on display to anyone entering or living in it. The longer it hanged there, the more foreign your own face seemed to you. The painter must've taken some creative liberties, despite Astarion claiming otherwise.

Walking down the hall you reminiscent about the early days. When he promised you love, eternal life, a place next to him as his eaqual. You allowed him to turn you into his spawn. The trust in him was bigger than your common sense telling you to think it over once more. He told you he'll turn you into a full vampire eventually, after some time adjusting as a spawn.

"Soon my love, very soon."

That 'soon' has lasted for nearly a century now. Your patience was not only running thin, but it was gradually being replaced by regret. Has this arrangement given you anything? He has promised so many things and yet fulfilled seemingly none of them. While he gained it all: freedom, seven thousand spawn, palace, powers, eternity without fear, and you, a loyal lover by his side. But at what cost.

You've lost your reflection, body heat, hunger for normal food, and most importantly your life. This existence couldn't be called living.

"Hello my love," Astarion caught up with you and hugged your from behind making you jump a bit. Even after all these years you still can't hear him coming. "How have you slept?"

You put on a smile. Despite how much pain he has started to cause you, you still liked his company. "Good."

"Good? Darling, I'm hurt," he theatrically put his hand on his chest, "spending a dayful of sleep without your magnificent vampire by your side and you claim it was 'good'."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, a sleep of peace without your grating teeth could be classified as good."

"Careful, dear," he jokingly threatened and you nudged him in the ribs with your elbow.

You liked these small moments. When it almost seemed like nothing changed, as if he was still the cute mischievious spawn you've shared tents with.

But then...

"M-master?" A small pale child with eyes blood red squeeked behind you. One of the gur children he has lured away such a long time ago and who he refused to let leave the palace and come back home for reasons unknown to you.

"What?" He snapped at the poor girl, the playfulness washing away from his faster than a lightning bolt.

"T-the lords, of Baldur's Gate, they wish to speak with you."

"Wasn't the paper work I've spent on my whole day enough for them?" He growled, as if the little girl was at fault.

"Astarion," you chastised him under your breath to which he nodded slightly.

"Fine, where are they?" He asked a bit nicer.

"Down in the entrance hall," the little girl answered and smiled at you, silently thanking you. From time to time you needed to stop Astarion from being unnecessarily cruel to his spawn. You promised to keep him in line, to keep him from changing into the man he hated the most. Sometimes it was easier, but when someone took away the time he could spend with you... he was extra unpleasant the last night, or rather day, when the lords of the city you both saved preassured him into finishing a certain paperwork he refused to show you.

It was a miracle he treated you this nicely after the mess he was twelve hours ago. Then again, you didn't really complain, ever since he has become ascendant his mood and his whole self has become rather unpredictable

He grinned. There it was again. "Wonderful. Right when you decide to wear the most delicious dress," he praised you and caressed the velvet hugging your body. You both knew it wasn't really your choice, but you let it be.

"I don't know. I don't really want to meet people today..."

"You don't have to say a word," he put a hand on the small of your back and slightly pushed into the direction of the entrance hall. "All you have to do is stand next to me and look beautiful."

"Astarion, I-"

"Darling," he said, as if he chastised a kid, and pushed into your back a bit more.

And that's how you ended up standing next to him while he sat on a luxurious throne, a giant portrait of the two of you hanging behind you, covering the whole wall. A menacing sight for sure. Not for you though, he's doing this sort of thing every other friday.

The lords before him stuttered and mumbled, occassionaly glancing at the two dosen spawn stood lining the hall, prepared to pounce if their master gave them the order.

Bored out of your mind you glanced around the whole hall, despite knowing it inch by inch. Then your eyes set on one of the lords looking you up and down. Uncomfortable you averted your eyes and crossed your arms in a weak attempt to hide your body. A movement that didn't go unnoticed by Astarion.

"Darling," he adressed you and took your hand to pull you a bit closer to where he sat. He couldn't care less he just cut off one of the elderly lords and potentionally offended him. "You seem awfully bored. I'm sorry this meeting isn't up to our standard of fun. How about you go entertain yourself before I finish this up?"

"Really?"

"Of course my dear," he kissed ylur knuckles, surprisingly making an uneasy shiver run down your back, something about his sweet voice was off. "Your presence is rather," he glared back at the young lord, "distracting."

The young lord gulped but you couldn't care less. As fast as your heavy dress allowed, you ran to your safe place: the library. Once Astarion used to sit surrounded by books along with you, but now? It was all yours.

You walked up and down inbetween the tall bookshelves. You've already read them all, nothing will surprise you. Although that leather bound book over there in the top shelf seemed a bit...new. Despite obviously being covered by a thick layer of dust.

You hiked up your skirt and climbed up the ladder and back down with the unknowm book in your hand. Finally something new to take your mind off of your misery.

You mindlessly flipped through the book, skimming through its pages until you got to a rather interesting chapter.

A magic scroll changing a vampire to a human.

You stared at the black ink on the yellow page. Is this a dream? Did gods hear your thoughts and gifted you a solution?

Maybe that's it? A sign from gods. There's a chance for you to be alive again. To live again.

Without thinking you walked back to the entrance hall, a smile wider than ever plastered on your face. Finally your chest feels light and full with hope. Your skin would finally be warmed by more than fancy clothing and your lover's lips. Your lover.

You halted. How will he react? He has been a bit too much lately and whenever he saw you in a place you didn't usually spend time at he ran over to your side and questioned your sudden change in routine.

Then you shook your head. He will let you go. If he really loved you as he claimed he did, he will. He could even put one of the spawn in charge of the palace and join you, to be like old times again. To remind you why you agreed to be his for the whole eternity. Who knows, maybe the scroll could work on him too.

You pushed the giant heavy door and almost walked through it into the hall if it wasn't for Astarion appearing right infront of you, pushing you back and away from the entrance hall and the only exit out of the palace. Before he could shut the door behind him, you saw something that would make your heart stop beating if it was still alive. A dead body drained of all of its blood, sitting right where the flirty lord once sat.

"You seem awfully joyful, my love," he noted with a smile, something sadistic sparkling in his red eyes. "The reason being me I presume."

You hid the source of your joy behind your back. "Not exactly," you said avoiding his gaze.

With suslicion he eyed your hand behind your back. "What have you got there?"

Before you could react he snatched the book away from you and held it opened right where the chapter about the scroll was. For couple of seconds it was quiet.

"Darling, what is this?" He held up the book, his eyes burning holes into your body.

You gulped. It's now or never. You've thought it over enough times already. "I think we should talk."

"Okay, let's talk," he said in his usual playful slightler higher pitched voice but his face remained stone hard.

"I want to go look for the scroll. Maybe it's not late for me. Maybe it can still turn me back into human."

"And why in the hells would you want that? Hmm? Answer me," he growled and you took a step back.

"This isn't what I thought it'd be Astarion. I miss the sun, I miss the warmth-"

"I gave you the sun. I tinted all windows for you. And am I not warming your bed every night?"

"That's not the same. I want to live again. I want to age and see my own reflection again."

"You want to age? Like the common folk who's worth less than the dirt on my boots?" He chuckled. "Darling, you must've gone truly mad. Why would you want to throw away your eternal youth and beauty for a," he clicked his tongue in disgust, "weakness of a life."

"Because life is beautiful. It's constantly changing and fast paced and fun and finite. You told me once that you miss petty vanity that came with being alive."

"Yes, back when I wasn't living up to my full potential. Wait," a wave of realization crossed his face. "This idea, this rebelion, it couldn't have come from your head," his eyes turned feral. "Who are they?"

"Who?"

"Those who plant these ideas in your head! Was it that young fool who stains my carpet now? Was it? Did he manipulate you into leaving me?

You shook your head and raised your hands to calm him down. "No one did. I didn't even know him. I never leave the palace and you know it Astarion."

"So you mean it's all your idea? You really want to leave me? After everything I've done for you?! I gave you immortality! Eternity at my side as my consort and you would just throw it all away?!"

"I'm not happy like this. I thought I would be but I'm not. I thought you'd make me happy but," you hugged your arms to sooth yourself. "But you changed."

"Yes. That was the point. I was weak before. Now I'm much stronger. With me you'd never have to fear anyone."

"Except for you," you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "You've become cruel."

"All to protect you," he went to cup your cheek like he used to back in camp. But back then he always made sure his hands were clean, the one he was reaching out to you was drenched in blood.

You stepped back, avoiding his touch. "You promised you'd turn me into a full vampire."

Astarion took a silent step towards you, like a predator stalking its prey, ready to pounce. "But why would you want that darling? You don't need to be a true vampire. You have me. I will give you all you need. Anything you point at, anything your body and soul desires. Voice it and it shall be yours. I will make sure of that," he eventually backed you into a wall, forcing you to withstand his bloody touch.

"I want to leave."

He frowned and pushed your face away. "You ungreatful worm."

He took a look at the book still in his hand and threw it out of the window.

"No!" You ran towards the window and would've jumped after the book if it wasn't for the height you were in.

"Don't you understand?" Astarion breathed down your naked neck, sending down shivers of fear down your spine. "You are but a lowly spawn, forever tied to its master. To me. Out there are much more dangerous beasts than hundred years ago when you pranced around as a pathetic human. They would kill you before you could even think of drawing your weapon."

From behind he adjusted your dress, his cold fingertips lightly caressing your skin. What would be a romantic gesture making you feel warm inside it only made you tense out of fear of what he'd do next.

"You were the only good thing that has happened to me in my whole life. Tell me, was the last century that bad for you to want to leave me? Haven't I done everything for your absolute comfort? Cozied up the palace, tinted the windows, planted rows and rows of flowers beneath your balcony with my own hands, ordered the finest seamstresses to make you dresses, never once gave you an ordered nor forced you into things against your will, was nice to my other spawn at your command."

As he kept listing off the things he has done for you, you started feeling conflicted. It was true, he did obey in certain areas. He could've just waved his hand at your request to be able to see the sun again, he could've left the palace dark and brooding exactly like vampires prefered. He could've ordered you around like he did to the other spawn but he didn't.

Now that you think about it, weren't you exaggarating? Didn't you owe him the loyalty after making your life this comfortable? How many people can say they live in a palace without having the royal blood?

Those who live. Those who have a choice. You had none.

"I love you," he said at last. "You are my everything. All I do is for us to be safe," he almost sounded the same as when he was just a spawn as well. Sincere and loving. "I will die if you don't stay."

Staying. That last sentence sounded off, you couldn't even put a finger on it. But you knew staying means nothing if you're not free to leave. You shook your head and got free from his embrace.

"I've made up my mind. I'm sorry Astarion, but I need to live again."

His mask dropped and back was the vampire ascendant. "No no darling. All you need is just some peace and quiet, where no one can put nasty little ideas in your pretty little head."

With that he grabbed you by the waist, threw you over his shoulder and made his way up a spiral staircase up to a tall tower, with you kicking and screaming. He threw you onto a soft bed and locked you up in the small room. "You will be safe here, where no one can disturb you. You will soon realize I am the best thing that has ever come your way, same as you are mine."

~~

You waited until sun was high enough. Astarion knew you were smart, and smart vampire spawn wouldn't try to escpae while their natural enemy was at its strongest. But you were desperate to leave, and desperate spawn were capable of anything.

The room in the tower had no protective tint on the window, your only saviour were the thick curtains hanging losely from the ceiling. When you couldn't hear any sound from the other side of the door you ditched your extravagan dress, put on some old clothes you found in the wardrobe and used your rusty lock picking skills to open the door. Thankfully you still remember Astarion's lectures from camp and soon enough the heavy wooden door swung open.

With making as little noise as you could you descended step by step down the staircase. Ocassionally you had to duck under a window to avoid sunrays, not truly trusting your makeshift cloak from the bedding to fully protect you from burning.

Finally you got into the safety of dark windowless halls, most of them adorned with paintings of nature and fresh flowers put up on your request. It stung knowing how ungreatful you must be acting towards everyone living here but you put Astarion first for nearly hundred years, it's time you put your own needs above all else.

You knew the palace better than the back of your hand. You knew exactly what turns to make to avoid sunlight as best as possible. The best route towards an exit would be through the kitchen larder connected to a cellar which contains secret door you've discovered some decades ago and which leads right into the garden next to a thick forest. All covered in shadows. All safe for you. The book irrecoverably lost somewhere among the rose bushes can be damned. You'd have to rely on your memory and the good people you'll meet on the way.

Once you finally made it towards kitchen doors you hesitated. The door was slightly ajar. Someone was in there. A hungry spawn looking for rats or other pests to eat at best, Astarion going through his precious wine at worst. You prayed for the former.

Before entering you listened to any sound, any clue who it may be inside. You heard nothing. With couple of deep breath which your body didn't really need but they still calmed you down, you opened the door and slowly crept inside. No one was at the main kitchen. So far so good. The larder was safe too.

With nerves wrecking your whole body you walked down to the door leading to cellar and got the biggest surprise of your life inside.

There surrounded by wine barrels layed Astarion, clothes drenched in wine and some other red liquid. Much more viscous.

"Oh my gods, Astarion!" You ran up to him and turned him onto his back. You couldn't find the source of the bleeding right away, the blood mixing with the wine plus the complicated pattern on his red jacket made it difficult telling which is which. You took his body into your arms and held him with tears clouding your vision. This isn't what you wanted. You didn't think he'd really die.

Suddenly he stirred and opened his eyes. "Darling? Is that you?" He reached out his hand to touch your face and despite the mess on it you let him. Even held it to keep it on your cheek. "Yes, it's me. Please don't die. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know I could mean this much to you."

"You are my whole world, my love," his thumb brushed your tear away, "I can't bear the thought of you leaving me. I can't bear the thought of you out there, all alone, surrounded by danger. I would die from fear for you, my one true love."

Weakly he pulled your head towards his. Instead of a kiss you expected he leaned into your ear. "Will you stay?"

You nodded and rested your forhead on his. "Yes, of course I'll stay. I'm sorry I ever wanted to leave. It won't happen again, I promise. Just please don't die."

"I won't die my dear. May I?" He slid his hand from your cheek to your neck and tapped at your jugular. "Just like the old days."

You gave him some slace and he sank his fingers into your flesh, drinking from you just like when you met. The sensation of blood leaving your body felt foreign and yet awfully familiar. Taking you back to the days when Astarion was basically depended on you. Looking down at the state he was in, his hair and body a mess, it was obvious he trualy hasn't changed that much over the years. After few gulps he could hold his body up on his own.

"Thank you my dear. It makes me insanely happy you've decided to stay," he hugged your waist and pulled you flush against him.

"I- I'm just happy you're okay," you admitted and hid your face in the crook of his neck. You were sure you were strong enough to leave but seeing him at his lowest, you just couldn't. He never once thought of ending it all before. You must truly mean the world to him.

He kissed your hair and scooped you up into his arms. "Come my dear. It seems I've neglected you too much to cause this little crisis of yours. Let's get you all dolled up and discuss how I can make your life better with me, hm?"

He walked out of the cellar, holding you bridal style and promising you the moon and the stars. You felt loved by him again. So much so you didn't even notice an empty bottle of blood, perfectly placed in the shadows, just like the rest of his performance.

[qtboni]

Hey there! ☺️ I've been loving your writing lately and wanted to make a request for a new piece. What about writing about Soldier!Reader and König falling asleep on each other on their way back to base after a mission? I think it would be a sweet moment of intimacy after all the dangers and stress they've been through together. No pressure though, just thought I'd throw it out there! :)

HI, LOVIE! thanks for this request,, this was undeniably the cutest thing I have ever written!! i used gtranslate for the german phrases cz idk any german huhu. anyw, i hope u wd love this, anon <//3

PAIRING: König X Gn!Reader

OVERVIEW: König letting you rest on his shoulder, and him also resting on top of your head <//3

C/W: Everything is fluff.

As you sat in the back of the military vehicle, you felt your shoulders droop as you fought to stay awake. Your mind was fogged from fatigue, and every minute felt like an eternity.

But as your eyes began to flutter closed, you made one last effort, shifting slightly in your seat to avoid dozing off.

You and your team had just completed a long and arduous mission, and you all were tired and eager to get back to base. You looked over at König who was seated next to you in the military vehicle. He looked just as exhausted as you felt, his face lined with the strain of the past few hours.

König, watching over you as he always did on missions, noticed the tell-tale signs of you about to fall asleep. Instead of calling you out, however, he silently watched with concern.

He knew how grueling the mission had been, and he did not want to see you hurt yourself by staying up any longer.

As you continued to struggle to keep your eyes open, your focus began to slip, your head slowly drooping. You didn't even realize it, but eventually your head came to rest on König's shoulder, your breathing growing more and more steady with each passing moment.

König noticed the change in your demeanor immediately, and he watched your face as it relaxed into a peaceful slumber. He knew your exhaustion well, and he saw it as a sign that you had finally reached your limit.

His rough, low voice was warm and comforting as he whispered words to you so softly that you almost didn't catch it, but you felt their meaning deep in your heart.

"Ich bin so stolz auf dich," he murmured, his voice low and steady, "Du bist so mutig und stark."

His whispers continued as you slept, caressing your right arm gently as he does so. "Ich liebe dich..." he murmured softly, sounding almost hesitant. "Du bist meine Welt, meine Liebe."

König knows that you would not be able to understand them, so he lets himself freely express his love and care for you in his mother tongue.

König then adjusted his seat to accommodate you and let you rest against him. Nevertheless, you still slept soundly in his right shoulder, the warmth of his body providing a sense of comfort and security that you desperately needed.

A few hours later, you awoke to the sound of König's snores. He had leaned his head on top of yours, and the sound of his breathing was rhythmic and soothing. Despite the uncomfortable position, you felt a sense of calm wash over you, and you drifted off once more.

As the hours passed, the warmth of his body seept into yours, and your consciousness began to fade. You were lost in a dreamless, restful sleep, feeling safe and protected by his presence.

Finally, the sun began to set, and the military vehicle came to a stop outside the base. You stirred from your slumber, feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever might come next. You opened your eyes to find König still sound asleep, his head resting on top of yours.

You sighed softly, trying not to disturb him. You carefully shifted your position and leaned over to whisper in his ear, "König... Wake up."

He stirred slightly, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Gott sei Dank..." His voice was low and hoarse from exhaustion, but there was a smile in his eyes. "I'll never complain about a nap again."

You giggled quietly, feeling a sudden surge of affection for him. "You'll never complain about anything again," you murmured, reaching up to prepare your stuff and fix your vest.

"Ja," König replied, his eyes gentle as ever as he looked at you. "Thanks for your shoulder, schatz. Sorry for if ever, um, it was uncomfortable."

"Oh?" You smiled softly at him.

"You know, given by your smaller than me, maus."

"Well," you chucked as you leaned over at him once more. "It was actually one of the best and comfortable sleep I have ever encountered in this.. kind of scenario."

König felt a warm sensation sweep over his cheeks as he blushed, clearing his throat nervously. "Is that so? Well, I'm glad."

"Actually, I should have been the one thank you. So, thanks. I really needed that nap." You patted his shoulder, where you previously had slept on.

König felt a nervous jolt run through his body as he realized his blush must have been noticed, even with the mask on, when your smile seems to expand more cheekily.

He doesn't trust his words, fear striking in him if he's going to let out stuttering phrases. So, he instead nodded at you, averting his gaze once again.

You knew that there were plenty of things he couldn't express with his mask on, but you could still tell that he appreciated your gesture. And you were glad to have been there for him, just as he had been there for you.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

broken machine *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ simon 'ghost' riley / gn reader

fic type *ೃ༄ depression comfort, oneshot

cw *ೃ༄ detailed descriptions of severe depression (specifically lethargy & low motivation), detailed scene in which the reader disassociates, one instance in which the reader looks at a knife for too long (there is no mention/description of self harm though), reader is described to have curly hair, nudity (non-sexual).

summary *ೃ༄ when the days bleed into one another and your will to live runs dry, simon is there to comfort you.

note *ೃ༄ i've seen a lot of these ghost depression comfort fics where he comes home to a vv messy house bcs reader's too tired to do it and while that is a valid representation of depression, i wanted to write one in which the reader fights through their depression to keep the house clean since ik there are a lot of us who can't just lay in bed all day (like we want to) when we're depressed. Anyway, i hope this is of some comfort to someone out there.

masterlist *ೃ༄

   The day began as normal — well, as normal as you could make it. 

   It was cloudy and drab outside but it still somehow brought you a sense of solace. Grabbing your phone to check the time, still under the warm covers of your bed, you realized that you’d slept in again; It was around ten in the morning. Your limbs felt like lead and you cursed how heavy and lethargic you felt despite knowing the fact that it was all caused by your mental state. 

   Over the years, you’d found that these episodes would come around at unexpected times and ever since you decided that medication would not help, these episodes just came and went — some stayed longer than others. This one was one of the longer ones, it was lasting about three weeks now. During the moments where you felt more energetic (which was rare), the beds would be made and surfaces would be dusted. 

   You fought through your lethargy and the desire to just sleep the entire day to keep the place clean for when Simon would come home — that, and the fact that being in a clean environment helped you feel good about yourself at least a little despite the constant weight of depression on your back. 

   There were times where you’d go weeks without cleaning and when it got too messy for your liking, you’d pull up your gloves and get to work. Simon was already working hard and the least you could do was keep the place clean until he came back home, that’s what you told yourself. So, without further contemplation, you begrudgingly exposed yourself to the biting London air and got ready for the day. 

   As soon as you got to the bathroom, you considered a shower. But after eying it for some time you resigned to just splash water on your face and brush your teeth. Showering felt like a burden you couldn’t take care of right now. Right now, you had to get this place looking decent at the very least. 

   You hummed the lyrics to a song that's been stuck in your head for a while as you washed the dirty dishes in the sink, slowly scrubbing off the hardened leftover food off of them. Truthfully, you hadn’t really eaten a proper meal in a while, just noodles. In times like these, you couldn’t stomach much. But even then, it wasn’t as if you even had the energy to get up and make a proper meal for yourself. 

   Once the dishes were done, you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes. 

   The air was still cold and the flat couldn’t be more silent. The flat always felt colder and more still when Simon was gone. With your vision gone fuzzy, you were sure that you were looking at the window in the living room, across from the kitchen. Though now it looked less like a window and more like a fluffy cloud of white and grey. It was as if your eyes were unfocused camera lenses. 

   You weren’t sure how long you’d stared out into nothing, but as soon as you snapped back, you rubbed your eyes and continued on with your duties.

   Your eyes lingered on the knife holder for a bit longer than normal before you exited the kitchen. 

   With the floors swept and mopped, the counters wiped and clean, you looked over at the mountainous laundry basket in the closet. You’d been putting it off for a while but you sighed when you realized that you were running out of clothes.. You couldn’t procrastinate doing it any longer. You moved the basket out from the closet and into the room before you began separating them; jeans by themselves, socks and underwear together, darker clothes were separated from the lighter colors and soon enough it was all ready to be washed. 

   You started with jeans and after about an hour and a half, all that was needed was for the lighter colors to dry up. You sat at the couch watching a sitcom that you weren’t really paying attention to while you waited for the clothes to dry and after a while, you found yourself asleep on the couch. 

.

.

.

   You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed between then and now but it didn’t make any difference to how you got up. Simon wasn’t home yet. You pulled yourself out from the comfortable couch, your skin warm from the contact. The lacquered floorboards beneath your feet were a striking cold contrast to the warmth you felt just minutes ago. 

   Nonetheless you continued on to the dryer and took out the clothes. Little warmth lingered on them since they’d been dry for a while now. Taking armfuls of the semi-warm clothes, you set them on the king-sized bed you’d longed to sleep on for a while now and began to fold them. You weren’t energized from your nap, in fact you felt more tired than ever — but your motivation to finish this first was overwhelming your desire to succumb to slumber. 

   You folded the pants and separated the shirts, separated the socks, the underwear and tucked everything into their respective drawers. Now, with a decently cleaned home and the laundry done, you allowed yourself to collapse on your bed. Your stomach felt empty, had you eaten anything since you’d woken up? 

   With a sigh, you carried yourself into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. It would have to suffice since the arms of your tiredness stuck to you like caramel. After finishing the glass, you swiftly went back to your beloved mattress and let your body sink into it until your aching muscles and tired bones mixed with the softness of the bed. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 

   The following day, you were woken up. Not by the usual cloudy day nor the cold London air, but by the familiar warmth of none other than your husband. Simon’s arms engulfed you like the blanket you had around you. His arms were placed lazily around your waist but as soon as you tried to move to get a better look at him, he tightened his hold on you. “Si,” you whispered. 

   You whispered his name a total of two other times afterwards and yet all you got in response was a tired grunt. You sighed and rolled around, your eyes gazing at his tired visage. Your fingers curled into his hair which was longer than you last remembered. It set in that he was next to you, that he was here and it suddenly felt like a dam broke loose inside you. 

   Simon didn’t deserve this- you. 

   He didn’t deserve to feel concerned over you crying into his neck as you hugged him close. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as high-maintenance as you. Why should he be forced to carry your burdens after all the hard work he had to do in the field? If anything, you should be the one giving him solace, not the other way around. 

   Nonetheless, Simon cradled your head in his chest and stroked your back lazily. He didn’t ask questions about your crying, only cooed at you, telling you to breathe and that it’d be alright. “M’sorry,” you apologized after untangling yourself from him and wiping your tears that didn’t seem to stop. It had felt like you were just now tuning into reality after being on autopilot for about three weeks straight. These burdens weren’t his to carry and you hated that after months of him being gone, this was your greeting to him.

   “Don’t apologize,” he was sitting up now, bringing you close to him as if to remind you that you didn’t have to feel guilty about your tears or about your damaged state of mind. He held you like fragile glass, as if you’d break if he moved. Your arms slowly reached up to return his warm embrace. 

   “I’m not..” the words poured out of you with a shakiness. The earthquake inside you wouldn’t allow you to speak clearly. “I’m not okay.” Tears spilled and your fists collected the fabric of his shirt into them. It was hard for you to admit it, you were sure that dealing with these episodes by yourself was fine because you’d done it before. That it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. 

   But that didn’t stop you from feeling as if the weight of a thousand worries had just crashed down on you. 

   “You will be.” he spoke with a certainty that left no room for doubt. Simon didn’t move and kept quietly rubbing your back as if to soothe you. And it did. Your weary eyes ran dry after a couple minutes of his comforting hold on you. Once he was sure that you were done, the blond separated from you a little and brought his calloused hand up to your cheek, wiping the residue of your salty tears on your cheeks. You avoided his gaze still, you weren’t ready to face him after all of that. 

   After years of being with you, Simon had grown to be an expert on how to comfort you during these episodes of yours. He didn’t consider them a burden but he understood that you felt as if they were. To him, you weren’t damaged goods. You weren’t weighing him down, nor were you an inconvenience. 

   To him, you were just human. 

.

.

.

   In the ten minutes that had passed, you found yourself in a bathtub surrounded by soapy warm water. The water relaxed the deepest parts of your muscles and you felt as if you’d melt with the way Simon was carefully combing through your curls. Your hair becomes increasingly difficult to take care of during times like this mostly because of the amount of time it requires. It was full of knots and tangles and to get through them, you’d have to section the hair, detangle every section and then on top of that there was the shampooing and the conditioning and .. it was just a huge problem you didn’t feel like you could handle with the low motivation you were plagued with. 

   But Simon could care less. 

   He took your hair pick and sectioned off your hair with extreme precision and loving care. His big and calloused hands took their time combing through the various tangled spots, from the tips of your hair to their roots, just like how you’d do it. Through it all, you hummed a familiar tune to yourself, trying to soothe the guilt you felt for making him do all this for you.

   This wasn’t the first time he had done this for you and it certainly wouldn't be the last. His endearing actions often felt like something you were far from deserving. Simon quietly finished the last section up and rinsed the detangling cream out of your hair. He reached for the hydrating hibiscus hair mask you used, the aroma filling your nose in a comforting fashion. It felt like it had been ages since you last smelled something so pleasant. 

   Simon quietly lathered your hair in it, making sure every strand was coated in the hair mask. “You don’t have to do this.. I’m sorry for-” 

   He grunted, “I want to.” Simon wished you’d stop apologizing but he knew that telling you to stop would be futile. “Let me do this for you, yeah?” 

   With a reluctant sigh, you nodded and brought your knees close to your chest. After about an hour, he was done doing your hair care. He offered to wash your body for you but you refused, saying that you could at least save him the trouble of doing so — to which he then took the washcloth from you and scrubbed every inch of you, as softly as he possibly could of course. 

   “S’this the one you use, Love?” Simon held up a container half-full of the styling cream you used, though it looked much smaller in his hands. 

   “Yeah,” you replied softly, “That’s the one.” 

   Simon Riley rarely ever smiles, but in the rare times that he allowed you to see one — even the ghost of one — it felt like seeing the sun after a long and cloudy day. A sort of solace that was experienced very rarely but it made you happy when you did get to experience it. You let him section off your hair once more, this time with a little more conversation. He asked you about your days while he was gone and you answered with tellings of the mundane happenings at work, the drama in between your coworkers and how your boss was getting on your nerves more often than not. Simon, very subtly, managed to distract you from the darkness that plagued your thoughts. He redirected your thoughts to the present moment — the good moments. 

   The blond meticulously curled his fingers around each individual strand of your hair like you would have done. Perhaps his military precision was the cause of the perfect way he shaped your curls for you. After which, Simon helped you diffuse them until your whole head of hair was without a single drop of water. It had made you laugh how he asked for your instruction on how to do it since you never thought you’d be the one ordering him around like that. 

   “Smells nice.” you said after inspecting your hair and taking a whiff at the pleasant scent of it. You forgot how pretty having your natural hair all done up made you feel. Whilst you were getting dressed in your shared room, Simon was in the kitchen cooking up something that smelled delicious. The tangy scent of meat wafted throughout the flat, it made you remember just how much you’d missed having a proper meal instead of the noodles you’ve been stuffing yourself with these past few weeks. 

   The floorboards still felt icy underneath your bare feet, but your heart was enough to warm the fullness of your body. You walked up behind Simon and softly wrapped your arms around his torso. You could feel it as he tensed up and quickly relaxed under your tender hold. “Thank you.” It was a quiet sentence of gratitude, but he could feel the weight of your words. 

   You meant it. 

   He knew you meant it. 

   Simon tended to the cooking steak in front of him, the buttery scent wafting into both of your noses and surrounding the lot of you in the warmth of the fire on the stove. He brought a hand atop yours which rested on his stomach and lovingly rubbed his thumb along the skin of your wrist. His fingers were always calloused but they never lacked the warmth you sought during times like these. 

   Despite how hard it felt to just exist for a day, Simon always knew how to make you feel okay. He wasn’t your saviour of any kind, but he was your protector. 

   And he’d protect your heart as long as you’d allow him to. 

[thefreakandthehair]

(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.” 

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction  wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now? 

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son. 

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust. 

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself. 

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.” 

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight. 

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging. 

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!” 

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off. 

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can. 

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.” 

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks. 

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?” 

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace. 

It’s only then that Steve speaks. 

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them. 

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree. 

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge. 

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen. 

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain. 

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow. 

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?” 

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him. 

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter. 

[worriedvision]

Forgery - Chapter 2

Gender neutral reader, will tag part 1 at some point. Part 1 is the first chapter, and is needed as it's part of this fic. This is more build up than, I can see this having more than 5 chapters with how I'm thinking up a plot... And that's before stemming off into other routes!

--

"Good morning." You hear Sethos smile, handing you some water before stretching his limbs. "Ready to keep going?"

"Do you need sleep? I know I've slept a good few hours, I'd feel bad for letting you run on nothing." You chime in, Sethos rubbing the back of his head.

"As much as I'd like to take you up on that offer, I'm afraid because you are considered a suspect - I can't leave you unattended." Sethos states, beginning to prepare for the continued walk.

"Fine...If we land up walking past a village, though, could you ask for a couple of hours of sleep? I'll make sure someone keeps an eye on me."

"Funny you say that - Aaru village is just a few miles away! I'll stop by there, and Candace can keep watching of you." Sethos smiles.

Nodding, you help Sethos pack his bag before continuing on. Turns out he was right, Aaru village was there, and he was allowed to sleep. The only difference was, instead of Candace watching over you, it was the General Mahamatra himself. Initially, it was Candace looking after you while Cyno spoke to Sethos - you could only hope he wasn't tearing Sethos a new one for stopping. You plan to address this when you do finally speak to Cyno.

"So you're the person allegedly threatening the Medical Melusine?" Cyno speaks, causing you to jump.

"I was accused of that, yes." You start, already sensing Cynos immediate distaste. "I promise it wasn't me who sent the threat though! I wouldn't dream of hurting Sigewinne - she's my friend!"

"I must advise you to be careful with your words." Cyno responds, sitting across from you. "I plan on interviewing you here, before taking you to your final location."

Seeing your face drop, seemingly terrified you were going to be executed based on what you heard of Sumerus punishments, Cyno pipes up once again. "Don't worry - you will be working alongside a colleague of mine. I have not yet decided your fate due to lack of evidence."

Letting out a sigh of relief, you let him continue.

"Now, forgeries are very common - from my conversation with Sethos, it isn't a scenario I would rule out as unlikely. That being said, I must say I don't know you well enough to decide." Cyno begins, pulling out a pen and paper before pushing it towards yourself. "I would like you to write how you begin a letter, as well as how you sign off a letter. Be precise - if you have multiple variations depending on the relation, please include these."

Not thinking twice, you pick up the pen and paper, writing the requested evidence out. Cyno watches you, taking mental notes for himself as you carry out the task without having to think too hard.

"Here. What else do you need?" You ask, the paper being handed back over as well as the pen.

"Do you have any people you do wish harm upon? Any enemies at all?" Cyno asks, you shaking your head no. "How about jealousy - anyone you think of that may be jealous, please let me know."

"I can't think of anyone." You answer honestly.

"Last question - do you have any connections to outside organisations? The Fatui, the Abyss order, the Guhua Clan, anyone?" Cyno asks, you denying this. "Thank you for your answers. Please complete this form - this will be basic information for healthcare in Sumeru, and since you are still considered a suspect due to lack of incriminating evidence efficiently linking you to the crime you are entitled to free healthcare."

-

The walk to Gandharva ville is relatively uneventful - excluding your admiration of all the wildlife and plants you hadn't seen before. Upon arrival at Master Tighnaris house, Cyno knocks before walking in, you following along.

"Oh, thank you for gracing me with your presence, General." Tighnari huffs, finishing up with a vial of medicine. "Consider yourself lucky I didn't drop this vial. And is the person behind you the "alleged" Melusine hater?" Tighnari tuts, looking at you.

"I don't hate my friend, it was a forgery!" You tell, Tighnari wincing at the loudness. "Sorry, I've just had a hard time with all of this."

"...Cyno, please take our esteemed guest to their home - they will be staying with a guard - before we continue our discussion of the situation?" Tighnari asks. Cyno nods, gesturing for you to head out with him.

Upon entering the home, Cyno excuses himself as your roommate shows you around - where to get cleaned up, your bed, the essential bits and bobs.

--

Tighnari looks over the evidence Cyno had collected of your situation - some from you, and some from Wriothesley or Neuvillette. Upon first glance, the threatening letters look real.

But a second glance gives more context. None of the threats had your usual signatures or opening lines, and there were inconsistencies with the writing. A rare letter looked out of place, almost like two letters had been smashed together to make up for a mistake on the writers behalf.

Your medical information also gave hints - the person who wrote the letters didn't seem to account for your age, clearly quoting an 'age' you were that was off by approximately 5 years from when the letter was written and/or sent.

"I think this is a forgery, but I want to consult another opinion from someone else before pushing forward." Cyno explains. "I am asking yo.u not as a colleague, but rather as a friend - if you had been looking at this letter, would you think this person was _?"

"I think it's clear this is a forgery - I'm surprised that nobody in Fontaine clocked this, given they will likely have more evidence than ourselves." Tighnari tilts his head. "Ask for a second opinion, but I think they jumped to conclusions given the violent threats in this letter. I also noted _ referred to Sigewinne, but didn't voice any distain towards her..." Tighnari places a hand on his chin, thinking intently.

Cyno takes the letters, nodding as he agrees with Tighnari.

"Turns out-" Cyno starts, noting Tighnari cringing inwardly. "- the medical records have proven to be important to this investigation."

Tighnari let's out a sigh of relief, relieved Cyno didn't crack an awful joke.

"I would like to tell a joke, however given the seriousness of the threat I will hold back." Cyno blankly explains, walking out.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Edge Of Ever After | 1

Part 2

Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you… you turn my shit into gold."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader POV shifts!, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, remnants of forced marriage, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: so this is a the sequel to my Safe Keeping series. both that and this is originally posted on ao3. you dont have to read the previous series to understand what's going on, but naturally, it will make more sense if you do. I've decided not to tag everyone that asked me to tag them in safe keeping because this is another series after all. ❤❤❤ hope you like it!

Brown Wood rarely ever has its lights out, as it housed so many people. Rare were the times the place succumbed to darkness. Still, there were moments when all the servants, maids, men, and women were asleep and not candle was lit.

Lord Clegane purposefully returned to Brown Wood amidst this darkness. As he opened and closed the gate with as much care as he could, determined not to make a sound, he finds himself thinking of the first time he came here with his wife, her servant, and their dog. The darkness Brown Wood was succumbed to was not the same it was now. Where once there was fearful abandonment now had peaceful slumber.

If you told him this was the childhood home of his lady's family, he'd believe you; it was a large estate, abandoned as it was. And if you add it had been abandoned once because of a plague of woodland monsters that ended killing her family, well, he'd still believe you, because damned if he doesn't.

That's where he had come from, the cursed forest.

But the Brown Wood estate was no longer cursed, and it was all because of her, the sun of this side of Westeros, his beloved wife. It was because of her that this haunted place was now bustling with life, because of his bride... that he was so eagerly avoiding.

Sandor prayed to the gods that his wife's loyal mutts would not wake to the smell of him. He prayed as he reached for the door handle that they had not slept near the fireplace in the living area, but if they did, that they were too tired to wake.

He sucks a breath and enters his home.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

He releases the breath as he shut the door.

Pants. Patters. Chuffs.

"Fuck."

Sandor looks down and catches flashes of dark furred creatures circling around him. One, he recognized to be Rose because of her size, got on her back legs and rested her front paws on him. The other two began to get excited as he swatted their sister away. They thought it a challenge to start playing.

He recognizes Sage as he softly barks and immediately drops on his knees to shush the dog.

Sage and his sisters come upon him and begin to lick his body. He would have tolerated it, had he not been covered in black, tar-like muck left over on his skin and armor.

"Fuck off, pups," he whispers as he pushes them away and stands. Lilac, ever the big mouth, began to bark in protest. Her barks echoed across the whole place.

"SHHH!" he silences in a panic, "you're going to wake your mum!"

His ghost nearly leaves him when he hears, "she was never asleep to begin with."

Sandor turns and finally spots the woman that had been sitting in darkness all this time. "Bloody seven, girl," he gasps in shock, "what are you doing in the dark?"

He walks over, lighting a candle on the table, then looks at her. Her eyes were dark and tired. Her arms were crossed and jaw was clenched.

He watches her stand and look him once over.

He immediately says, "I'm not injured."

She rolls her eyes and looks away, "I can tell, Hound."

His face twitches as she walks past him. He follows after but winces when she hisses that he better not keep the candle open.

And so the Hound blows the flame out and the rest of the dogs follow their master across the place.

He wants to tell her he did good today. He really did! He saved the villagers from an attack, helped them with their cow problem too! And he counted and killed 20 monsters in the fucking woods. Twenty!

But that was the fucking problem, and he knew it. Hell, even the pups knew it.

He was spending so much time trying to eviscerate the tar fucks he was barely home anymore. But what was he to do? Not kill the them and have his wife go on an expedition to fucking Volantis looking for a witch Littlefinger told her to look for? Fuck no. He would rather feel her sheer disappointment for coming home late than to have her go to a foreign land looking for answers she doesn't even know for certain she's going to get.

Sandor soon realizes she's leading him off to the bathroom. She opens the door and lights candles for him.

"The water is surely cold now, but you'll have to make due," she says as she brings a flame to four waxen cylinders. After setting them down, she shoos the pups that followed them in and closes the door once they were out. She then walks over and helps him out of his sticky armor.

Sandor thinks she's like a fairy in this light, though she was clearly displeased with him and exhausted from waiting up.

"Forgive me for staying out late," he mutters, wanting nothing but to hold her arms as she removed his top. He wouldn't dare touch her in this state though, caked in muck.

She scoffs, "I'll forgive you when you stop doing it."

Once Sandor was out of his metal top, she looks up at him and sighs, "bathe quickly."

"Aye," he nods surely, "I will."

"I cannot sleep alone."

"Aye," he says weaker, "I know."

"Yet still you make me wait for you," she retorts tiredly.

"… I thought you'd be able to sleep with the pups."

"The pups aren't you, Sandor."

"I-"

She walks off to wash her hands. Sandor scrams to help her.

Once her hands are clean, she curtsies and exits the bathroom.

"I'll be quick," he says, because he can't say 'I didn't think it through.'

She simply hums in acknowledgment.

My eyes were heavy, head was hurting. My whole body was crying out for respite, yet I could not sleep. I hear the door. I slowly open my eyes.

I feel Sandor draw near, but he doesn't lie beside me. I barely make out his form but I hear him kneel by the bed. He takes my hand slowly into his.

"Come to bed," I mumble under my breath but even I can't hear it with how low it was.

I open my eyes enough to make out his face, at least as much as the darkness would allow me.

He speaks with the softest of voices "I don't want you to go to sleep upset with me."

I don't have it in me to continue a conversation. Instead I pull away from him and scoot back.

Sandor is perfectly still on his spot.

Once there was a good space between us, I beckon him over by patting and rubbing the bed.

Sandor climbs to my side and I immediately sprawl on top of him. The smell of his body was a comfort, the feel of his form and warmth nearly made me faint.

I could feel his tension. I rub his ribs and shush him, "go to sleep."

Sandor lifts his head to look at me. After, he lets himself relax and stare at the ceiling until sleep takes him.

When I wake up, I'm laid atop my husband. My head was rested by his left collar bone and my leg was thrown across his hips.

It takes me a few moments to realize he was rubbing my thigh. Upon looking at his hand, then his face, I confirm, he was already awake.

Sandor looks at me and frowns.

I frown back and raise my brows.

He brushes my hair away from my face, "you're mighty tired, girl."

I relax and realize what the frown was for. Normally, twas I that woke up earlier. He was concerned because that was not the case today. "I cannot sleep well without you."

"Aye," he sighs. He brings his hand to the curve of my bum, "apologies."

My breathing grows heavy as he pushes my dress up.

"I feel terrible," he mutters, "let me make it up to you." Sandor kneads at my hip and sequentially pulls me atop him.

I do not say a word, I simply let him rub his hands on my thighs. I rest my palms on his chest and watch him examine my body.

His hands find their way up my nightgown and into my smallclothes. He locks eyes with me as he tugs them down, testing to see if I'd give him permission.

I lick my lips and tilt my head. I grab his wrists. We stare at each other for a moment.

"I do not like this routine," I mutter.

Sandor's face betrays him. He looks panicked.

I huff and shake my head, "you taking me because you're guilty."

He clenches his jaw.

"I do suppose is better than… nothing… but…"

My heart leaps into my throat when Sandor calls my name. It was a rare occasion when he did, as he opted pet names; it did things to me. When I tense, he takes the opportunity to pull away and grasp my wrists.

"Tell me how to make it up to you," he whispers.

Sandor and I watch each other's stillness.

After a moment of waiting, I pull my hands away and lean into him again. I prop my hands on his chest and he allows me to do as I please. After some shimmying and hovering, I rid myself of my underwear.

He watches as I toss it off the bed and straddle snuggly on his hips. I grab his wrists and bring his hands underneath my clothes, a silent encouragement to touch me.

The Hound squeezes and claws. I suppress a sound when he bucks into me. I feel my belly swirl in excitement but I do not allow my mind to be fogged before I get to say what's long overdue.

"Stop hunting at night."

Sandor releases a deep breath as he shifts upward on the bed. He licks his lips, "you know I won't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm so close to purging those fucking monsters," he mutters as his hands roam up my body.

"H-" I whimper when he kneads my breasts. I huff, "h-how do you know that?"

"Because they're few and far between," he shifts upward again and sequentially pulls my dress off me. Before I can cover myself, his mouth covers me, or more accurately my right breast.

I lean into him and grip his shoulder.

He sucks on my flesh then licks my nipple. He grips my ribs and further sinks into my bosom. He brings his face into my cleavage and begins to suck. He was intent, I knew, on leaving marks.

I feel him begin to rock his hips and I audibly react to the feel of his pants against my bare flesh.

I bite my lower lip and grab at his shirt, attempting to pull it off him.

He groans and pulls me closer into him, unwilling to separate his mouth from my skin. He pushes my hair back and trails kisses up to my neck. He nips my skin before finally pulling away.

Now fully sat up, he looks at me darkly. He rubs the places he'd kissed, as if examining his work, then finally, takes his top off himself.

He stills when I fondle with his waistband. He rather unwillingly allows me to move and rid of his pants. Once it was past his bum, he pulls me back down like he was scared I'd run off.

I whimper when he does so. Sandor rids himself of his final piece of clothing.

"Dance on my cock, darling."

My breath hitches. My cheeks flush.

His hands sprawl across my thighs, covering them nearly wholly and urges me to move back and forth.

I gulp as I feel my body heat up as I maneuver my hips.

The groan that leaves his mouth is high praise to me.

I garble out a sound when his thumb rubs at my nub. He hisses when he feels the wetness there, "fuck, sweetheart. You drive a man mad."

He plays with me some more then pulls his hand away to spread the wetness across his fingers, "gods be fucking good, all this for me?"

My face burns with embarrassment. I bring my hand across my chest, "Sandor."

He perks with concern and immediately cages me in his arms. He peppers kisses down my neck, "no, my lady. I'm in awe of you."

I mewl when he digs his fingers into my hair and tugs at the roots.

"Such sweetness...." he whispers against my ear, "this for an ugly dog?"

"S-stop it," I quip and give him a shove.

He pulls back and looks down at me.

I hold his gaze and scowl, "don't speak like that."

"What? R'you saying you think me pretty?"

"I do," I retort.

He laughs and rubs my arms to warm me, as if I could be cold against him. He grabs my hips then ruts into me. I make a sound as I watch him take his hardened length and slowly sink into me. I gasp as I feel him press balls deep into me.

He shudders against my ear, "liar."

The Hound begins to thrust upward and the sounds I make are muffled by his mouth. He kisses me like he's starved, and perhaps he was.

He tightens his arms around me. He buries his face into my neck. He breathes in deeply. He sighs, "color me flattered though."

I squeak when he shoves me on my back and pushes my calves into my thighs. He grunts, "fuck ya good for it."

I screw my eyes shut and throw my head back as Sandor snaps into me. With every flick of his hips, the bed creaks and I move farther and farther down the bed. He has so push me down in place to keep me from slipping any farther. He pins me by my shoulder and brings my legs up in front of him.

My legs rest his shoulder. He kisses my ankle, "my darling wife."

The Hound persists in a rough and quick pace, hardly stopping, slowing only to tease me. He gnaws at whatever part of me his mouth can reach and grunts as he explores my body. He molds me against him, hands pawing at my flesh, touching, feeling, steadying.

I'm a toy, a chew toy of a hound, something he craves to stretch, gnaw, and tear but so is very selfish and protective of.

He rubs my belly and it pushes me on edge.

When I come, I'm exhausted; I always am.

When he comes, he's spent and hot and dripping; by extension, as am I.

Sandor curses as he gives his final thrusts. I'm shaking and raw beneath him. He eventually stops and looks down upon his destruction. He spreads the slick on my thighs. He wraps my legs around him like a belt.

"I love to see you like this," he mutters in between breaths.

I heave as I blink slowly. My eyes act like I didn't just wake up from my sleep; I feel exhausted.

"Want to see you heavy with child," he rubs my belly, "my child. Fuck. I want to see you full. Love to see you leaking but I can't have that."

I try to move my legs, he instantly prevents me, "a bit more, love."

"… my leg is cramping," I cover my face with my arm.

He presses my thighs back into my chest, "just a bit more."

Sandor was laid back in bed, tracing his wife's spine with his fingers. She was straddled around his waist, laid upon him like a blanket. He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and slowly, involuntary, they begin to breathe at the same pace.

He could not express the relief, the astonishment he felt the very first time she let him hold her. The fact was, his tongue itches to tell her, to thank her for allowing him to relish the softness of her body, the warmth of her skin, the gentleness of her, even when she did not have to, even when he was not she was not getting anything in return, not like when they had sex.

But he would not express this. For what good was thanks if he had nothing to show for?

Words are empty.

For his lady, he'd carve out every skull and lay them upon her feet. He was good at that. But words? Empty.

Sandor watches as his wife stirred and looked at him.

Her hair was wild, skin sticky, eyes heavy, lips swollen. If gods were real, she was one of them.

"I think we should get dressed, husband."

His stomach skips at the name. He hated that he was so affected by it when he knew that it was duty to her; all she could feel for him was borne out of duty.

He brushes her hair back and nods, "I will not keep you longer than you'd like."

He notices how she purses her lips. He notices how she smiles. A dutiful smile.

Sandor smiles back. He wishes she'd grin at him the way she did her pups but he was hardly anything to grin about.

He watches as she pushes herself up and stands. He watches as she grabs her shift from the floor and heads to the bathroom.

Sandor rolls on the bed, breathing in the scent of their fucking… their love making. He loved her.

How could he love her if he hurt her?

He sighs and fantasizes about his wife being with child. He wonders if she'd like him more or stop caring for him once that happens.

He shakes it out of his head before he makes himself sad.

Later that day, he's back to training the boys how not to get themselves killed with their own swords. They've learned to be punctual all on their own (Polly snitches on whoever was late for the day, though he's never really set a time when practice starts).

Sage liked watching practice. He never did anything besides walk around and sniff whatever he could put his nose to, but he was always there. In some way, Sandor was very touched by this.

He was very protective of the pup, and found himself watching the small creature more than the kids he's supposed to be teaching.

But of course, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone else when his wife comes out.

"Sandor."

Immediately, Sandor turns around and perks up at the sound of the voice. Unbeknownst to him, the rest of the people in the yard do as well.

Lucy walks next to her lady. She holds a basket in one hand while she brings the other around her lady's arm. He feels a bitterness in his mouth, a bitter envy over the comfort the two women had with each other. He knows he'll never have that with his wife, but it doesn't hurt him any less.

"Lucy and I will go out to the market."

He drops everything and steps forward, "I'll accompany you."

Sage sticks his tongue out as he runs towards his beloved master, as if he understood the conversation, as if saying he, too, would be coming.

Sandor takes one look at the pup and says, "you sure as fuck 're not invited, dog."

Lady Clegane hushes the dog and reiterates a puppy cannot join them, then she looks up at Lord Clegane, "you do not have to join us either."

Sandor doesn't argue, he simply looks at Lucy, who was giving him a greasy look, and heads off to the gates.

Sandor had absolutely no idea which part of the market they were headed, so when they got there, he constantly glanced over his shoulder until eventually, his wife stopped at a vegetable stand. He turns back and hovers by them.

"Do you think we should get pumpkins?" Lady Clegane asks while absentmindedly holding an onion.

Lucy tilts her head, "we could but I don't think I could carry it."

"I'll carry it," Sandor chirps.

The two turn to him. His wife smiles and Lucy grins like a fool.

They end up buying a pumpkin that was nearly the size of his head.

Sandor is unable to make out what the two women were talking about as they walked in front of him because of how many people waved good morning or greeted him far too jovially. At a point, the women had to stop as Sandor got held up by a crowd of people wanting to have small talk with him.

Like a star, his wife saves him with her shining smile, garnering all the attention of the people for herself and quickly dispelling it. He has no idea how she does it.

They move on after and then his wife spots a stand of strawberries. He vaguely hears her excitedly tell Lucy how much she loves strawberry pie. Lucy tells her she knows this in the same excited way.

Lady Clegane is allowed to sample a strawberry. The Hound catches himself smiling at the way his wife savored the fruit.

They buy a basket full of strawberries and, just as Lucy and her lady walk away, Sandor asks the vendor where he could strawberry seeds. He doesn't get a straight answer right away and by the time he does, the women have walked off quite far.

Thankfully, by the time they notice their Hound was missing, Sandor managed to come back with a pouch of strawberry seeds in his pocket. He doesn't say anything about it though.

When they get back to Brown Wood, he immediately asks the groundskeeper, Job, if he could help him plant strawberries.

One of the servant girls, Margaret, was helping me out today. I was attempting to bake strawberry pie, and after three failed attempts, it was shaping up to be a futile task.

Margaret, face flushed and temples moistened with sweat, placed the fourth pie she fetched from the oven onto the kitchen counter. I frown as she wipes her forehead on her sleeve but play it off when she turns to me with a grin. Margaret says, "it smells so good, milady."

I give her back a smile, "I am glad to hear it."

She watches as I grab the knife and lean onto the counter. She says, "I'm very, very, very sure that we managed to make the pie just the way you like it."

I chuckle at the girl and place a hand on her shoulder, "I would hope so. I feel terrible for taking you from your chores, Margaret."

She perks and immediately shakes her head and hands, "don't be, milady! We all of us love helping you out," she brushes her hair away from her face, "even if we have to make twenty more pies to suit your taste, I would not complain."

I laugh softly as I take a towel and hold the hot pie tin in place. I take a slice of the dessert, though it was still scalding, and transfer it to my plate. I then move it towards the 3 other pies on the counter.

The truth is, there was nothing wrong with the pies. I had Margaret help me with making them precisely because she knew how to and I didn't. It's just that they didn't taste like the ones in my childhood, and I could not take it.

There was a pit in my stomach because of my lacking attempts. It was not of hunger, make no mistake, it was of longing.

I take a forkful of pie from my plate and take my time blowing some air on to the jammy thing before taking it into my mouth.

Margaret watches me with anticipation as I chew.

I look at her hopeful eyes, wanting nothing but to tell her we finally did it, but I supply her the truth, "it still tastes different."

Margaret deflates. I place the fork down on my plate as I lick my lips.

"Although the lemon and the cream did help a lot," I offer as consolation.

The girl perks and claps her hands, "then we're on the right path!"

I clear my throat and smile.

"Perhaps we can try adding other fruits into it. Or maybe you can try to recall some more details about the pie? Like a smell? Vanilla is hard to miss."

"Mmm, I don't think they added vanilla." I push the plate towards Margaret, "have a try, but be careful. It's still piping hot."

She grins at me, "thank you, milady!" then grins at the pie, taking her own fork.

I laugh at her, feeling a giddy sensation as I watch her lean forward as she takes a slice.

Margaret was the youngest out of the servant girls. She was 10 and 5 but looked quite mature for her age because of her height and fuller figure. Her demeanor was fully that of a darling girl though. Her parents used to be bakers. She told me she does not remember where their bodies were buried, so she occasionally offers prayers for them at an oak tree she used to swing on.

I imagine what it would be like for me to have my own child here in this moment. Would they also like strawberry pie? Would they care to help make it? Would they smile at me like Margaret?

I look up and see the Hound marching over. He looked a bit winded, and I figure he came from training. My belly tingles as we make eye contact.

Margaret finally takes a bite and she quite literally jumps up. She covers he mouth as she speaks, "THIS IS DELICIOUS!"

I giggle, "is it really?"

"By the gods, milady. You mean to tell me what you used to eat was better than this?"

I chuckle and watch as Sandor walks over. He heads for the cupboard where he immediately snatches a bottle of wine. He uncorks it with a pop and chugs it.

"Ehm, in a word it is," I reply to Margaret, "all I know is that it tastes different. I can't quite figure what however."

Sandor lets out a satisfied breath as he pulls the bottle away from his lips. He walks towards me, and it seems as though Margaret noticed him only now, judging by the way she jolted back and quickly greeted him.

The Hound ignores her though as he scrutinizes the countertop. He turns to me, "been baking all day, have you, little girl?"

I part my lips and battle with myself on a response. On one hand, I want to nag about how I was suddenly little girl again, but then again I quite enjoyed how his lips subtly curved upward as he spoke it.

Margaret steps back as Sandor takes up all the space by my side.

Although it was not glaringly obvious, there was a look of amusement in my husband's eyes. He sets the wine next to the pie slice and leans on the counter to get eye level with me, "you gonna give me a taste?"

I watch as he licks his lips and catch the way the wine stained them.

And so, to ward off my inner turmoil, I nag him about that instead, "alright. A slice in return for this," I snag the wine bottle, shocked by how he managed to drink it half empty already, though I really shouldn't. "You've had enough wine for today, Hound."

Sandor straightens up, dumbfounded by the turn of events. He shifts on his spot to watch me hand over the wine to Margaret, "get me a pitcher of water, my dear."

"Fuck water," Sandor scoffs.

Margaret looks between me and Sandor, heavily unsure and anxious of what to do next.

"Give me the bottle, wench," the Hound barks.

Margaret gulps and I take a step between them.

"Stop it," I scowl at him.

"But-"

"You won't enjoy the flavor of the pie if you ruin your tongue with wine." I look over and dismiss Margaret. She quickly curtsies and runs off.

"Hey- GIVE IT BA-"

"Stop it!" I grab his shoulders, "quit scaring the girl!"

The Hound walks back as I push him, "she took my wine!"

"You can have wine at supper," I quip, "if you're going to have pie, just have pie."

Sandor huffs as I release him. I then take my fork and slice a chunk for him. I bring the fork to my lips and take a moment to blow on the pie. Once it's cool enough, I bring my fork towards Sandor, my other hand underneath it to catch any falling crumbs. I get on my tiptoes to have a better hold on the fork.

He pulls his head back at first, but two seconds later, he leans in and takes a bite.

I relax on the pads of my feet and put the fork down.

He chews as he looks down on me.

I stare up at him with expectation.

He licks his lips and nods, "it's good."

I wait for him to say anything more but he doesn't. I press my lips into a line, "that's nice to hear."

He looks at me for a moment, hums, and tilts his head, "what do I owe you, then?"

"What?"

"What do I owe you?"

I raise my brows.

"Want me to feed you next?" he raises a brow.

I furrow my brows, "no…? You don't owe me anything."

He hums and shakes his head, "how about a kiss?"

"What?"

Sandor smiles lopsidedly. He bends and places his hands on my waist, yanking me into him. My body blazes with crackling flames as I'm pressed against him.

Before he can lean in, I push him by his chest with both hands. I immediately turn my face away and quip with my eyes shut, "you don't have to kiss me!"

I hold my breath. Sandor watches. Slowly, whatever expression he held slips off and gets tugged down along with the corners of his lips.

He releases me and I catch my breath. Sandor feels like his hands and arms were foreign appendages that had no business being on him. He awkwardly clenches and unclenches his fists.

I turn back to him with knit brows. He looks at me with a hard expression.

"You don't owe me things, Sandor."

His expression tightens.

I huff and place a hand on his chest, "I don't do things so… you have to repay me…"

A deep line forms between his brows.

I shake my head, shrug and smile softly, "I do them because I want to… you should only do the same."

He sighs through his nostrils and takes the hand I had on his chest. He brings it into his large ones and looks at them.

He opens his mouth and speaks so softly, under his breath, "you have such a strong sense of duty."

I blink at his words, thinking they somehow feel out of context. I figure it was true anyway, so I agree, "a sense of duty keeps me together."

Sandor turns back to me, "just as your duty being my wife."

I raise my brows.

He kisses the back of my hand before setting it down. He nods at me as he mutters, "I want what you want… If you don't want me to kiss you, then I won't."

My eyes widen, "I- I didn't say that."

He chuckles dryly, "you pulled away so fervently."

"Because you asked me what you owed!" I exclaimed, "you don't owe me."

He laughs a bit louder, "everything's got a price."

For a moment we stare at each other.

"Then how much do I owe you?"

He seems to thinks for a moment. He offers no response.

I suck in a breath, "if you want to kiss me, kiss me. Kiss me because you want to, not because… you owe me." I feel pathetic as I add, "I do not wish to buy your affection."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

I feel my mouth go dry. It's as though my voice is taken from me and I barely manage to croak out a, "yes."

It takes too long. The Hound does not believe it. He shakes his head and says with no conviction, "very well."

[edith-hyde]

Hey, I don't know if you still up for it ot whether you have some rules about requests, but I've seen your post about doing Peter Hale x reader and others. And I'd really like to see your general dating headcanons with Peter Hale or Chris Argent💛

I've got so many ideas for a Peter Hale series! I hope to start posting it eventually. I will gladly do a dating headcanons for him. And I'll throw in Chris too. Everything here will be safe for work, of course. Enjoy!

Dating Peter Hale

He was so scared to tell you the truth about what he was, but when you found out, you didn't care.

He loves showing off his money. Expect expensive gifts.

But he's not a fan of huge crowds, so no big fancy dinners. He much prefers to eat in private with just the two of you. Or maybe at some small place.

Does NOT like candle lit dinners. Nor a yule log at Christmas. Or grilling out.

You and he learn how to cook together because he's so used to just buying all his meals. There's a lot of burned chicken, but also a lot of joy and laughter and making out in the kitchen. (That's why it burned.)

He's very touch starved. When you first start dating, he flinches every time you touch him. It takes some time, but eventually he can't keep himself from reaching for your hand or laying on your shoulder. He's heavy but you're fine with it.

He wants to make all the plans so you don't have to worry about anything. Just trust him to know what's best.

If you have family, they probably aren't too fond of him. He brings expensive wine to get-togethers though, so that might put him in their good graces if they like that kind of thing. If not, he'll depend on his usual charms. It might take awhile, but they'd eventually accept that he's here to stay.

Expect calls in the middle of the night. Or he might just show up. He doesn't sleep well and he needs comfort from the nightmares. If he hasn't slept the night before, he will curl up in your lap on your sofa and sleep. Stroking his hair really helps. When he's truly comfortable with you, he's prone to just falling asleep just so long as you're somewhere nearby. He especially likes to nap while you're driving.

Loves to just walk with you in the woods.

He's surprisingly knowledgeable about furniture and helps you decorate your house or apartment.

He wants everyone to know that you belong to him. He purposefully nuzzles into your hair to leave his scent on you. He loves giving you his jacket too. All the werewolves in town know you're taken.

Despite his bravado, he's constantly worried that you're going to leave him. He needs regular assurances that you love him.

He gets jealous easily. Your guy friends might wanna watch out. And you might have to have a long talk with Peter and get it through his head that they're not a threat to your relationship. Once he's 100% sure, this calms down. But he still doesn't like men fliting with you.

You help him rebuild his relationship with Malia and he loves you even more for it. The three of you sometimes get together and do dinner. You're there to console her when she and Scott break up and you have to keep Peter from going to LA and trying to kill Scott for a third time.

He constantly brags about having you to Derek and anyone else who will listen.

He will listen to you rant about work and the people that bother you. Then he'll offer to take them out. You assume he's joking, but sometimes, if they really upset you, he totally means it.

He will show up at your work and pester you. It's distracting, but you love seeing him.

His name for you in his phone is "My Queen".

He gives great skin care advice and has a wonderful sense of fashion. Also knows all the best hair care products. He loves to take you shopping for new stuff and buys everything. He gets broody if you won't let him shower you in gifts.

Sometimes when he's emotional, his eyes will turn blue and he will turn away because he's worried about scaring you. When you kiss him despite his fangs, he knows you truly don't care. You're even kinda into it much to his amusement.

If he upsets you, expect a huge vase of flowers. If you're not a flowers person, he gets chocolates or some kind of jewelry. He knows he can't buy your affections, but that isn't going to stop him from trying. He will eventually give a proper apology, but he hates admitting that he was wrong. Consider yourself lucky if he does.

Dating Chris Argent

He's the sweetest thing on the planet. His tired blue eyes and sad smile make you melt every time.

He lights up every time he sees you.

He lets you pick where you go to dinner, though he usually surprises you with a home made meal. This man can cook and you love it.

Brings you coffee or hot chocolate almost every morning.

Mows your grass and fixes your car for you without being asked.

You like to watch him clean his guns after a mission.

Sometimes comes home with some pretty gnarly wounds. You always clean him up and make him promise it won't happen again. But it keeps happening anyways. He hates to make you worry, but he has a job to do.

Early in your relationship, he constantly tries to run. He's afraid that if you love him, you'll die like everyone else has. It takes you awhile, but you eventually manage to convince him that you're not going anywhere.

Date night is just diner and a movie on his couch. He's not a fan of hanging out in public. But he will go to the park with you on sunny days. If you have an interest in guns, he'll take you to a shooting range.

He likes to just dance with you around the kitchen when he's in a really good mood.

He takes you on trips to France after you've been together for awhile, and shows you all the best places away from the crowds.

If you have any family, they are wary of him at first, but then they love him. He's so respectful. Your mom wants you to marry him tomorrow.

He has some trouble sleeping and can often be found sitting on his back porch, having a beer at night. If you show up, he finds it easier to get some rest.

He will always do his best to keep you safe. He might even train you how to fight if you ask.

If he does train you, you like to distract him while sparring by kissing him. It works every time.

He often has Scott and his friends over for dinner. You love having so many fun people around.

In a perfect world, Isaac comes and visits often and once accidentally calls you mom. Chris thinks it's hilariously adorable.

If he upsets you, he gives a sincere apology. You can't stay mad at those sad blue eyes no matter how hard you try.

[ken-dom]

I’ve got a little idea if this interest you for Sebastian 💛 the ending of la la land is so gut wrenching to me. I’d love to read something where seb gets an ending I’d like even more where he not only makes the jazz club dream a reality but he has a wife that always comes to watch him play & they’ve got babies too. The club AND a family like he deserves and dreamed about!

I'd be lying if I said I haven't wondered what Seb has going on in his life after we see him at his jazz club. Maybe the club itself is enough for him, or maybe he finds love somewhere unexpected, maybe he starts a family along the way, too. Anon, I feel like your idea deserves a long post-canon fic, but I hope this little drabble is enough for now 💕 I also have a spicy Seb one in the works too if that interests you!

Dreams

Sebastian Wilder x gn!reader

∘₊✧ 400 words

∘₊✧ Fluff, kissing, comfort, Seb having children is vaguely alluded to but not explicitly stated

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Visions of a life he had long left behind faded as Sebastian's consciousness pulled him away from the world of dreams.

The thorns left behind from the story his mind had chosen to tell him made his breath catch in his throat as he awoke. It was jarring. Despite this, the warmth of morning greeted him kindly. It was pleasant, and he chose not to fight that feeling.

His limbs were heavy with sleep, eyes only half-open as he adjusted to the bright room. The sounds of laughter from outside broke through into his waking senses. It was laughter he recognised, carried in on the gentle breeze through the open window, and it settled over his heart, softening the sharp edges that had been exposed while he slept.

Shifting against his pillow, he became aware of an external weight on his body - your arm, comfortable around his waist, fingers innocently grazing up and down the soft trail of hair below his belly button.

With a contented sigh, his lips instinctively pulled up into a relieved smile, and he turned to find you already awake beside him.

You, bathed in a dreamy warm glow. Perfect, and completely absorbed in him.

His lips were drawn to yours like a magnet, natural and easy, but there was no urgency in his kiss. He had forever to spend with you, and he intended to take every moment as it came, memorising as many as he could.

Slowly, tenderly, his lips slid over yours, stubble stinging at your flesh until the tip of his handsome nose brushed yours when he pulled back.

'There's a lot to do at the club. They're waiting for me,' he muttered reluctantly, husky with sleep and ever so slightly drunk on your kiss.

Your fingertips curled into his shoulders as you attempted to pull him back to you anyway. 'Aww... just five more minutes, Seb?'

'I can't, I've got to-'

'Please,' you begged, hitting him with your best puppy dog eyes.

Seb inhaled deeply, breathing all the warmth of you and this glorious morning in. How could he pass up on that? The club would still be there in five more minutes. Hell, it would still be there in half an hour.

'Alright. You're right. C'mere.'

And as his arms dragged you flush to his chest, his lips pressed to yours once more.