#i need to draw more SEAM by beloved SEAM.

[tysonfurybattlepass]

seam for the character ask game, with 1, 7, 8?

god, i don’t talk enough about seam.

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

i am a fuckin sucker for a random guy who also happens to be cataclysmically powerful and the only reasons they’re not god emperor or whatever are a severe lack of motivation and an aversion to participating in A Society. soft friend who could beat your ass and explode the world if they didnt have really bad adhd/depression combo. fatal character flaw is not giving a shit. hashtag relatable. i also think it’s fascinating to see a character who has been exposed to The Horrors (to what extent we aren’t sure yet) and instead of succumbing to eldritch madness they just went “damn thats crazy. anyway”

i like to think i would have that reaction if i found out predestination was real and the universe was encoded into an rpg by some guy with a pomeranian fursona. not much else to do but keep on going as usual.

also. hee hoo i’m the cat guy i like cat characters. i like cats. kbity. it doesn’t hurt that seam has one of THE best character designs in the game. the jack-o-lantern motif. the color palette. the expressions. so fucking good.

7. What’s something the fandom does in regards to this character that you like?

i love it when people draw seam in a fancy official court magician outfit. bonus points if it comes with a sick ass wizard hat. @woodwool has my favorite court magician design :3

8. What’s something the fandom does in regards to this character that you hate?

this was more of a problem back before ch2 dropped and i dont see it so much anymore but the misgendering. i also don’t really like jevil and seam interaction wherein seam is portrayed as the straight man/grounded one of the dynamic. i think younger seam was just as much of an insufferable shit as jevil was, just in their own subtler, lower-energy way <3

[foldingfittedsheets]

Hey! If you don't mind sharing, I'd be interested to hear more about your chronic illness diagnosis journey (I also get that it can be a private thing!).

I've been struggling for the last 5 or so years with chronic fatigue, muscle weakness, muscle pain and brain fog, and my doctors have checked a bunch of different things. EBV, thyroid, vitamin D, "are you sure you're not just depressed" and they've now gone for ME/CFS. A part of that just doesn't feel right to me because I feel like they should have done more tests or walked me through alternatives before settling! Especially because it fluctuates so much. Sometimes I can't leave the house, sometimes I have to borrow a wheelchair if I'm in a shop, sometimes I can walk 5000 steps??

Love and support for you and your gluten free adventure - potatoes, rice and polenta tend to be pretty good for me when I want something bready! (Doesn't quite hit the spot as well as buttered toast does though...)

My decline was really painfully gradual. I didn’t realize why things were getting so much harder. It manifested first with friction between my beloved because they were frustrated I was always too tired to run little errands myself. I went to the doctor and talked about my fatigue but was assured I was fine. I went on Chinese herbs and they buoyed up my reserves so I could keep functioning.

That went on for months, just getting more and more tired. I’d wake up sobbing because I wasn’t any more rested than I’d gone to bed. I went to a new doctor at that point. I got diagnosed with anemia until my blood work came back normal and then I was told I was fine.

Then I started fainting. My hair was falling out. I went to a different doctor. She ran my blood. I got told I was fine, but that maybe I had a food allergy. She slapped me with a full elimination diet that broke my spirit. I did feel some minor improvement but I wasn’t healthy by any means.

Finally, my good friend who is a doctor said that’s enough. She was in a different state but she was furious that I wasn’t getting any help. She ran my blood on a bunch of different ailment tests that were less well known. She tested for antibodies to EBV. If you have over 20 they consider you to have an active infection.

I had over 700 which is when they stop bothering to count.

I was so chock full of virus I was pound for pound virus by that point.

Then came the hard part. Knowing you’re bursting at the seams with a virus doesn’t make it easy to treat. The virus was living in me, in my cells. Too much of the medication and my body would start siccing it’s defenses against its own tissue.

I went on a bonanza of supplements. There was syrups to boost energy, pills to increase my immune system, antivirals, iron and vitamin D because those were kinda low. It was a three times a day regime of medicines.

My initial dose of antiviral was too high. I experienced a pain unlike what any mortal should bear as a result, dropping to the ground to writhe in agony when it hit. My dosage got lowered and my progress crept along.

I started school sometime in there and barely kept my head afloat above coursework. My stress load from school correlated to how much energy I had and I longed to finish my degree and just prioritize feeling better.

Then things got worse. My original doctor friend let her prescription rights for my state lapse, it didn’t make financial sense to keep them. A different friend from yet another state wrote my antivirals for a while but eventually I needed a new doctor.

I found another, this time a naturopathic doctor like my friends, hoping I’d keep receiving good care in that scope of practice. I didn’t. I had the most painful blood draw of my life in her office, writhing in agony, then didn’t hear back from her. I got ghosted by my doctor. When I pestered her for results she wrote me a script for antivirals but that was all.

I’d find out about eight months later when my health was declining and my friends demanded to see my blood work that my iron had been dangerously low but she hadn’t bothered to tell me. I got on iron supplements and staggered along.

Through precision time management I could budget my functional time into schoolwork then collapse to recuperate. It was working, but barely.

When my scrip on antivirals ran out I hunted once again for a doctor. This time I’d realized that any good care I’d gotten was when I’d made a personal connection with the doctor, a rare privilege not many people got. So I sought out a friend of a friend, someone I’d seen on occasion in the doctory social circle.

I have never been more happy with a doctor. She tested my viral numbers and pronounced herself satisfied that it was in check but was suspicious that although my thyroid numbers always looked normal that something was going on there. She ran more tests and lo. A thyroid imbalance.

Around that time I’d sunk into needing the chair. I stopped functioning, it was almost as bad as my first collapse. And yet again the fun part of getting my thyroid in balance was a delicate balance of making sure I wasn’t taking too much and hurting myself.

That balancing act took about a year to stabilize. I was still so weak from years of fatigue and inactivity. An able bodied person cannot imagine how hard it is to build up from ground zero on all your muscles. And the worst part was any time I felt tired I was terrified I was going to slip back down into the depths of exhaustion.

Then my beloved and I got Wyvern the puppy. And before we realized we had both somehow developed allergies to dogs and had to break our hearts giving him up, he saved me the last time.

Potty training meant I had to get up every two hours to take him out. I didn’t have to walk far but I had to do it consistently. Every single day I’d go to bed aching in every muscle, terrified to wake up. But every day I woke up with energy and was able to do it again.

It was like puppy boot camp, and I was able to go longer and farther every walk. By the time we realized we couldn’t keep him I was mobile again, I hadn’t needed my chair at all. When we said goodbye to him I promised I wouldn’t lose the progress he helped me make.

Now I finally, for the first time in six years, feel healthy again. I can go on long walks, I can run little errands for my beloved, I can fill my days with activity and wake up to do it again the next day. It’s the most amazing thing.

I hope you can stumble upon a doctor who can listen to you and help you. I know how hard things can get, but sometimes they can get better.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Shifting Wings: Chapter Six

Shifting Wings: Before the Raven Matthew, there was Jessamy, and Jessamy came with a little sister by the name of Adrienne. Dream adores his two little Ravens, but after over a hundred years of imprisonment and the death of Jessamy, Dream will find that he has not just lost his companion, but his beloved little Raven Adrienne no longer brightens the halls of his Palace. None of his staff wish to speak of where the Raven has gone, but the silent new resident of the palace is cause for question. After all, she was the one who aided in his release. If none of his subjects would help him find Adrienne, perhaps she could lead him to the whereabouts of the missing Raven. If only the woman wasn’t so flighty and hard to track down.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x FemaleRaven!Reader, NAMED Reader (I like the name).

Word Count: ~2.1k

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2022, The Dreaming

High above you more of the once grand castle crumbled, this time a piece from the conservatory. You watched a rather large piece of marble crumble in the air only to take out a section of the auxiliary garden. A burst of water erupted and your eyebrow popped up.

“There goes the manticore fountain,” You murmured. ��A pity.” From behind you came Mervyn’s disgruntled mutterings as he approached you.

“Where’d that one end up?” He gruffly asked, scrutinizing the dilapidated palace. You tilted your head to the side, sharp eyes enhanced by the raven part of you, taking in the destruction.

“Auxiliary garden,” You explained before needlessly sighing. Yet another mess to clean up, you wanted to return to your studio and continue your drawings… but this would need to be cleaned up. “I believe the manticore fountain took the brunt of the rubble. Water is currently spraying everywhere...”

Mervyn let out more noises of complaints, his facial features twisting at the idea of having to clean up yet another mess. The palace was falling apart at the seams. Everyday there was more to clean up. More rock. More wood. More dilapidation of the palace he had once proudly maintained. At least part of the library was still around, he shuddered to think what would happen to Lucienne should it disappear entirely.

Glancing at you, Mervyn then wondered if your art studio was still in descent shape. It was the only place you really called home and you spent the most hours in. Doing what? He assumed and hoped, that you still painted and drew, you had gotten quite good at it since you had made your deal with the fates. Fingers were much easier to work with than beak and claw.

“How’s your studio goin’?” He grunted at you. You glanced at the pumpkin headed janitor and arched an eyebrow.

“It still retains its function,” You supplied, moving forward to stop the waterworks from the broken fountain. It would only create more work for you and Mervyn if it was left to continually spray water into the air.

“I mean has it started to break down,” Mervyn further explained himself, knowing that your proclivity to be straight forward with your answers was yet another quality he and Lucienne hated about your emotionless state. “Ya know, the walls, the ceiling, your easels… does your bed still feel comfy—“

“I do not sleep in the bed,” You stated, earning yourself a scowl from Mervyn. He knew that, but he and Lucienne constantly hoped that one day you would fall back to the time where you did sleep on the soft mattress and luxurious sheets. Morpheus had created the space just for you, all those years ago. Instead, you now occupied the small closet in the studio. You had made a nest of feathers and down, and slept in your raven form.

“Has anything changed!?” Mervyn asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. You paused in thought.

“The walls tremble and the floors creak more,” You answered. “They feel the tiredness of the palace and air their displeasure.” Mervyn looked at you, not really knowing what to do with that information. The walls tremble and floors creak? There really wasn’t much he could do about that, the whole palace was as you described. Only the return of Morpheus would fix that.

“Okay then, just tell me when things really start to fall apart, kay? Don’t want to see any of your work get ruined.” Mervyn rumbled as you reached the broken fountain. You walked over to the magic circle spurting water into the air. Bending down, you ran your hand over the stream of water, using your grasp of magic to stop the charm. With the water taken care of, you looked at the broken rock and rubble around you.

“How shall we proceed?” You asked, rubbing your wet hand on your trousers. “Some of these pieces are much too big for us to handle alone.” Mervyn grunted in agreement and stared at the pieces, thinking hard.

“I’m gonna ask the Wyvern,” Mervyn sighed heavily. “Hopefully it won’t spit poison at me this time. You head on in, this isn’t something that’s gonna be cleared with our hands.”

“As you wish,” You replied, rising to your feet and observing the mess once more. The Wyvern, should it be agreeable, would handle the chunks of rock easily and clear the space in a matter of minutes. You bid Mervyn goodbye and strode for the palace, the tails of your tailcoat flapping behind you. As you neared the palace, a gust of wind blew across the pathway and ruffled your hair. The feather you had tied there fluttered and brushed against your cheek as you pushed your black and white hair from your face. Perhaps it was time to cut it.

You reached the palace and glanced back at The Dreaming, your eyes washing over the dunes of sand where life and beauty had once flourished. It was a dismal sight that made both Lucienne and Mervyn sad. In fact, the dilapidation of the realm was part of the reason why so many of the residence had left, that and Lord Morpheus’s absence. Most questioned why their lord and king had abandoned them. Others took it as a chance for freedom. Continuing on your way, you walked barren halls until you reached your art studio. Then you paused with your head cocked in curiosity. Your door was ajar and a light was on. Stepping up to the door, you pushed it open the rest of the way and stepped into your studio.

“You know,” Your visitor spoke, holding up one of your recent sketches of the ocean of dreams. “I’d have thought you would grow tired of this place, Blanche,” You pressed your lips together and glided forwards, plucking your sketch from his hands and returning it to your finished pile.

“It is my home and I have no desire for exploration,” You answered, turning to face the Corinthian. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “I also do not wish to leave Mervyn and Lucienne to clean up this place all by themselves. It would be a heavy burden for them to bear alone.”

“Have you ever actually done something for yourself?” Corinthian asked you, tilting his head to the side with a lazy smile. You blinked at him.

“I do not see the point.” You said. “What brings you by, you do not like me, yes?”

“I hate this place, I don’t hate you,” Corinthian corrected you, flashing you a bigger smile. “But really, you should get out more, have some fun.”

“Fun is wasted on me as I will not feel the typical enjoyment one usually experiences. You know this.”

“I can always try,” He responded, reaching up and taking the white strands of hair. Corinthian let them slide through his fingers. You used to be so much fun, your feathers easily ruffled, yet adventurous and always looking for something new to do. Now you were like a mindless robot going through preprogramed motions. The only regret he had for allowing his lord and master to be locked away, was what it did to you. “Come on, Blanche, get out, spend a couple days with me in the Waking World. There’s plenty for you to see compared to this place.”

It was a temping thought. Occasionally the Dreaming felt monotonous to you. One got very bored of staring at sand and ruin after a while. The Waking World would provide new scenes for you to paint, an intriguing idea…but at the same time your loyalty to Mervyn and Lucienne, to Lord Morpheus, held you back in saying yes. You were a subject of The Dreaming. Your place was here.

“I will have to pass,” You said, giving Corinthian your response. “I have too much to do, I’m afraid.”

“Do you?” Round sunglasses slipped down Corinthian’s nose and he stared at you with his mouths.

“Quite so,” You affirmed before brushing past him.

You had the last remaining feather of Jessamy in your fingers, taken down from your hair as you sat in the library and mulled over the suggestion of using your last link to your sister to find her remains and hopefully, Lord Morpheus. You had scoured what remained of the library in search of a grimoire that you could use to locate them, and you had found a spell. But you would only have one shot at it because the spell required you to burn the object of the person you wanted to find.

Only one chance.

“Are you going to go forward with the spell?” Lucienne asked you from across the library table. You blinked yourself from your inner thoughts and raised your eyes to meet hers.

“A tempting thought,” You murmured before setting the feather in the bowl. “I have no attachments to this feather and this realm suffers deeply. It is time that Lord Morpheus is truly found. All my previous efforts have rendered no results, it is time to try something different.”

Lucienne was glad that you were still actively looking for him, especially when you had the power and freedom to. But at the same time you were doing it out of duty, not because you cared for Morpheus. Not because you were his raven. Not because you loved him. No, you weren’t even capable of love after trading your emotions and most beloved treasure for legs and arms. But there was a very positive outcome if you were successful: Morpheus would come back, and hopefully, discover your change, and do something about it.

If anyone would be able to break through what the fates had done to you, it would be Morpheus.

Lucienne stood back from the table, watching as you murmured words from the grimoire in front of you. The feather in the bowl blazed with blue fire, sending smoke into the air until the black and white feather was reduced to ash. You shuddered as the flow of magic rushed through your veins and the spell was activated. Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and felt the pull of Jessamy.

“I can feel her,” You stated in an undertone, feeling closer to your sister than you had in the last eighty years. An odd sensation. Lucienne felt hope bloom in her chest.

“Can you pinpoint her location?” She eagerly asked, genuinely feeling that this time, this time, results of your efforts would be profitable. Your eyes glowed with blue fire as you grasped the strands leading you to Jessamy. Ah, yes, there she was.

“Precisely.” You replied, rising to your feet. “I shall be departing for the Waking World. I do not know how long I shall be, or what I shall find.”

“I trust that you will take care of yourself?” Lucienne asked, worried that you would throw yourself into something might end with danger or worse, death. You calmly regarded her.

“I shall do my duty as a loyal subject,” You answered, not making any promise that you might not be able to keep. With those last words, you called upon your raven form and transformed your body from human to raven. The clothes you had been wearing dropped to the floor and you soared up,  summoning a portal to the Waking World. As Lucienne collected your discarded clothing, she hoped with every part of her being that you were successful and that Morpheus would return.

You found yourself perched in a tree in a switch of woods that surrounded an old house in the country of England. The swirl of blue had led you to these misty grounds, and your sharp avian eyes had spent the last day scrutinizing the grounds and how the mortals moved about. There wasn’t a lot of movement in and out of the old manor. Only a set of guards that interchanged morning and night. Not only was Jessamy here, but old magic permeated the surroundings. It was faded, that much was true, but it was there. Lord Morpheus was most likely trapped within these grounds.

Taking your gaze off the manor, you let your eyes follow the trail of blue smoke to a section of the garden, and took off from the tree. You glided across the expanse of grounds and flared your wings to drop down against the damp soil where magic hummed and blue glowed. Your head cocked side to side before you scratched at the dirt, clawing it with your bird feet and sending it behind you. Clawing at the ground, you scratched and scratched until you caught sight of the first sign of broken feathers.

Digging further, you finally saw Jessamy’s decayed body, bony and broken down with only a few feathers clumped against bone. Your foot searched her body and plucked a feather that was mostly intact. Holding it up in front of you, you lowered your beak and picked it up before flapping your wings and flying off. You coasted along until you found a section of woods that was isolated and fluttered down, landing on your hands and feet as you transformed into your human form.

Crouching naked in the woods, you held up the Jessamy’s feather and brushed your finger over the speckle of white tainting raven black. You had burned all that you had left of her within the Dreaming to find her. Now you had a replacement. That pleased you. You drew on your magic once more and preserved the flower, tilting your head and binding the new feather to your dual colored hair. Calmly raising your eyes, you studied the old manor further, your mind thinking over what your next steps were. You had found Jessamy, and were certain you had found Lord Morpheus. Now you had to do something about it.

Date Published: 6/7/23

Last Edit: 6/7/23

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[strwberri-milk]

Sweet Dreams

Kaeya x AFAB!Reader || Smut || 3 878 words

additional tags: wet dreams, pussydrunk kaeya, bottom kaeya, oral (giving + receiving), face sitting, overstim, multiple orgasms, dry humping

When Kaeya wakes up just desperate for your attention there's no way you can say no to him.

a/n: not bottom kaeya having its own tag on ao3 [skull] also take this smut fic where you get to love and adore kaeya bc kaeya's birthday fic is very depressing and sad or at least i wanted it to be but its also still smut so yea &lt;3

A slight noise hits your ears, barely perceptible to your sleep-addled brain and you have half a mind to ignore it but when there’s a foreign weight on your body you will yourself to wake up a little more. Looking down, you see your beloved sprawled across your body, arms throwing around your shoulders haphazardly as are his legs, one hiked around your waist to keep you in place. Kaeya’s always been a touchy sleeper, desperate to feel your body on his because it was the only way he could ensure you were alive and here with him so it’s not like waking up in this way was an oddity to you. No, it was something else. 

Somewhere in the recesses of Kaeya’s own mind was the image of you desperately keening against him, wanting nothing more than his cock mindlessly rutting against you to the point where you both feel dumb. He melts into you time and time again, body subconsciously acting out his desire against your hip. 

Against your body you feel him, dick hard and rutting against you sloppily. You’re not even sure if that’s actually what you feel until you reach down. Almost immediately you hear him gasp slightly when your fingers run across his tip, bucking a little harder into your touch.

“Mmn,” you hear a little clearer, letting his arms hold onto you tighter as his brows knit together in the slightest. 

The pretty little sound he makes just pushes you to draw more out of him, pulling your hand back and beginning to shuffle out of his grasp when you see his eyes open. They blink at you blearily and you’re thankful once again that he feels comfortable enough to take his eyepatch off around you.

Without a single thought behind those pretty eyes, Kaeya immediately goes to press messy kisses against your neck, whatever he saw in his dream clearly affecting his actions still. It doesn’t take much for you to adjust your body for him as he crawls over you, continuing to kiss up your neck and jaw. 

“What time is it?’ he mutters, losing his train of thought when you slide your thigh between his legs. 

“Why does it matter? I think you have more important things on your mind right now, don’t you?” you respond. 

You rub your thigh against him, smirking as he starts to rut against you at the feeling. His eyes close in pleasure, another low groan leaving his lips as his pace picks up. To help him out just a bit, you reach for his cock again, teasing his tip through the fabric while his hips find their rhythm. 

“I have to go to work,” he whines, bowing more into your body at a particularly rough movement of your thigh. 

“But if you’re all pent up like this you won’t be able to go anywhere by the time morning rolls around so let me help you out, alright?” you coo lovingly, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him sensually as he continues to use your body for his own pleasure. 

When he pulls back you lightly push against his shoulders, trailing your hands down his body as he sits up. It lets you watch him get more and more desperate for your touch, biting his lip as he brings his hands back to your knee and brings his hips forward. His cock presses against the seam of his boxers, jutting towards you with each upward thrust.

You bring your hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you push it up and put the fabric between his teeth and lips. You don’t need light to know the sensitive peaks are hardening with the cold air, desperate for your attention. Obeying their plea, both your hands go to pinch and tease at his skin, the loud keen Kaeya makes in response to the action driving you to do more. Your mouth comes up to gently lave over one of his pecs, pulling him down into your lap to keep him at your mercy. 

His reaction is immediate. As soon as your breath hits his chest Kaeya’s body stiffens up, fingers tangling into your shirt as his head lolls against your shoulder at the gentle suction around his nipple. He adjusts himself to straddle your waist so he can continue to grind against you, the delicious friction of your clothes and your teeth nipping at him making him even needier than usual. 

“Please,” Kaeya whines, wanting to touch you more if only his brain were clearer.. “Stop teasing me – ah – I need you.”

“But you sound so pretty when you beg,” you tease, throwing back one of his favourite lines back at him. 

“Plus, I know you’re so sensitive here. Just let me take care of you sweetheart.” 

Kaeya nods, letting you slip your hand under his waistband and hissing gratefully once your cooler hand meets the heated skin of his dick. Needily, the pace of his hips picks up significantly in comparison to before. Precum has begun to lightly stain your hand, you now using it as lubrication as you pump up and down his length. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he whimpers. 

The combined sensation of your hand and mouth on his body has him so close to cumming but he wills himself not to, breaths getting heavier with each passing moment.  His efforts don’t go unnoticed and you pull back slightly to watch his face, pressing a kiss to his lips when you see his expression. 

“What’s wrong baby?” you say sweetly. “Didn’t you wanna cum?” He shakes his head in response, bringing a hand to your shoulder to try and push you back. 

“Not like this. I wanna make you feel good too.” 

Normally, you let Kaeya take the reigns, knowing that he’d stop at nothing to make sure you both ended the endeavor satisfied and there was nothing wrong with that. However, you definitely prided yourself in being one of the few people who could bring about this softer, clingier side of him. It brought a light of pride in your chest to see someone so suave and debonair down on his knees with adoration for you and you didn’t want him to go unappreciated. 

“Don’t worry; just lay back. I told you I’d take care of you. You trust me, don’t you?” 

It takes a moment to process your words, the heat of lust never quite able to die down with your regular strokes. Soon enough, he nods and lets you guide him onto his back, sitting up on his forearms to watch what you plan to do. You pull off his boxers, thanking him with a kiss to his thigh when he moves to help you remove them. But, the kiss was not where you planned to stop. 

After a moment, you kiss up his thighs, biting lightly at places you know drive him crazy. You know he likes it when you watch his cock throb with excitement, practically getting harder as you move further up his body. When you get back up to his cock you begin to press kisses along his length, focusing especially on the prominent vein. It makes his thighs tense, knees coming dangerously close to closing around your head. Not deterring you in the slightest, you continue lavishing him in attention, ending by running your tongue over his slit slowly. This makes his thighs close over you, falling back onto the bed with a shudder. 

“Fuck,” he moans, bucking up into your mouth once you take his tip in, eyes rolling back into his head. 

“That feels so good,” he praises, the drowsiness from waking up that still hadn’t left his body just yet making the foggy pleasure just that much better. 

“I know,” you hum, going back to jerk off the rest of his cock as your mouth focuses on his sensitive head. 

His breathing picks up, another low groan leaving his chest when you sink down further on his shaft, wanting nothing more than to push you down all the way so he could fuck your mouth the way he’s growing desperate to with each descent you make. The sounds of your throat taking him in mixed with the feeling of reaching the back of your throat eggs him on, hands tangling into your hair as you slowly let him set the pace. He moves you up and down, hips following suit to maximise the feelings in his gut. 

Soon enough, he’s fucking your mouth with long, deep strokes, taking his time as you swallow around him. Kaeya can feel the constriction of your throat, speeding up as more and more praises tumble out of his mouth. It doesn’t take him long to work himself back up to his arousal from before, feeling ready to cum down your throat. 

“I’m gonna cum in your mouth - can I?” he asks in a thin voice, already so close to his end. 

It takes him aback to feel your hands pin his hips down, pulling off him with a lewd pop. He wishes there were lights on so he could see your drool spilling out of the corner of your mouth from taking him, unable to miss the image as soon as it came into his mind as you sink back down. 

You’re still holding his hips down, not letting him have any control over the pace but it serves to drive him even quicker to the edge as you bob up and down at your pleasure. The inconsistencies and sudden stops just to lick all over him makes him whimper and gasp, strong body still able to resist your grip some but not enough when you use more of your weight to keep him where you want him. 

“If you’re so desperate to cum, cum then,” you say after a bit, the rawness of your voice from taking him over and over again pushing him over as he cums deeply down your throat with a desperate call of your name, gasping for breath. 

You let him have the moment, suckling on his cockhead to draw out his orgasm and watch him come down from the intense feelings. His arm comes up to cover his eyes, still catching his breath when a distinct dampness reminds you of its presence as your hips shift to move around a little. He swats you from his softening cock as the sweat of overstimulation hits him, eyeing you curiously when he realises how quiet you got. 

“Do you want something?” His voice is a little raspy, the sound sending another bolt of pleasure through your body. 

“You didn’t think only you would be able to have the fun here, right?” you tease, testing the waters as you remove your bottoms this time. 

He doesn’t notice, at least not until you bring his hands to your waist, then further down and down, turning his palms so he knows he’s reached the insides of your thighs. His eyes glow faintly under you, widening as he realises there’s no longer any obstruction to the heat he so desperately craves. 

Without a second thought, he pulls you up his body. You fear you’ll fall with his enthusiasm, going along with it and bracing yourself against your pillows as your hips are dragged up to his hungry lips. 

“You don’t mind if I have mine now, right?” 

His fingers trail up and down your slit, biting his lip at how wet you are. He’s barely able to touch you when he can already feel your slick against the tips of his fingers, wanting to smother his face between your legs but deciding to give you some sort of warm up first. 

In the way that only he can, his fingers begin to circle your clit perfectly, turning to rest his thumb against it as he sinks a finger into your hole. The intrusion is welcome, your breathless gasp encouraging him to add a second finger soon after the first. Your heat envelops them both and he feels his cock stirring in interest at the feeling, wanting to replace the digits. He can’t help but grow even more desperate with each passing moment, wanting nothing more than to feel that tight heat squeeze around his muscle but holds that thought for now, focusing wholly on your pleasure. 

It’s easy for him to go back to focusing on your body, practically trained to watch your every reaction, figure out what you need more or less of. His fingers thrust at a steady pace, free hand going to rest against your hip as he not so subtly pulls you down closer and closer to his face. The hesitation is clear on your face, unsure if you should do as he’s asking but he doesn’t give you the chance to back out. You crumple as soon as his breath fans against your soaked cunt, biting back your pleasured gasp of his name. 

“Just let me treat you, right? That’s what you’ve been wanting to do for me.” The slight bite of his teasing tone is back, you more than happy to let him have his moment if it means he’ll finally put that silver tongue of his to good use. 

“Just fucking do it already,” you bite back, threading your fingers through his hair to keep him in place. 

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles breathily. 

Broad strokes replace his fingers temporarily, at first unfocused as you feel him just lapping at your wetness. You don’t mind it in the least, enjoying the way it slowly stokes at the flames of your arousal. It gives you enough sentience to keep your eyes on your beloved, the sight of his eyes looking up into yours so affectionately as he begins to press kisses against your pussy reminding you just how in love the two of you are. A part of you wants to vocalise the thought, ready to speak it into existence when he begins to suck on your clit, clearly done making out with your cunt. 

His lips wrap around the sensitive bud, desperate to keep it between teasing lips and teeth, light nips making you buck into his face as his attention stays on your clit. He knows it drives you crazy, the sounds of your laboured breathing painting the air now being paired against the wet sound of his fingers reentering your hole. There’s no distinct pace he’s trying to keep but all you can register is that it feels good. He knows exactly where and how to fuck your needy little pussy, always throbbing and desperate for him. 

“Fuck,” you let yourself gasp at a particularly rough thrust of his fingers. 

“You’re so good at this - Kaeya - it feels so good.”

The praise goes right to his cock as he bucks into the air unconsciously, wanting to hear more of your pretty noises. His tongue sinks lower, teasing around your hole and his fingers and before you can complain that you want him back on your clit you feel him sneak the sly muscle between his fingers that keep your lower lips parted, steadily fucking you with his tongue instead. This makes you lose your composure, beginning to hump lightly against his face for more of that delicious friction your body is craving. He lets you, fingers digging into your hips as he pushes you harder to get you closer to his face and you get the sense he wants to suffocate between your thighs. 

Your thighs are shiny with slick and sweat, so desperate to cum with each stroke of his tongue but it’s just not enough for you to ride his face like this. He’s practically drunk on your taste, eyes closed to fully savour you on him and you pull his hair to bring his attention back to you, whimpering pitifully at the feeling of his roots being tugged. 

“Make me cum like a good boy and you’ll get a nice reward, alright?” you promise, not expecting him to act as fast as he does. 

As soon as the words leave your lips both his hands come to grab your hips, fully forcing your weight onto his face as he eats you out like a man starved. One of his hands stays on your body, groping your ass as the other replaces his tongue, fucking you with just as much fervour as he sucks and tugs on your clit like it’s the sweetest piece of candy he’s ever had. He ruts the little bud against the flat surface of his tongue before sucking harshly on it, alternating between the two so quickly you never get the chance to get used to the sensation before switching to the other. It doesn’t take you much to cum as you hear the wet and lewd noises he’s drawing from your taut body, thighs squeezing around his head as you cum all over him with a call of his name. 

Your reaction isn’t enough for him and he easily pushes you off him and presses you down into the sheets. You’re about to ask him what he wants for his reward, more than satisfied when he throws a leg over his shoulder and dives back into your pussy, slurping noises even lewder with the gush of an orgasm that hasn’t yet been able to dissipate. The pillows hit your head as you dig yourself further into the plush fabrics in overstimulation, unable to pull Kaeya off you as he continues to drag out your orgasm. 

“I want you to feel even better,” he mutters to himself, holding your clit tight between his fingers and lapping at it nonstop. It brings you to crest another orgasm quickly, squirming in his hold as you pant for breath from the sensation. 

“Kaeya,” you moan, hips rutting into the air desperately as he brings you closer and closer to your peak.

“Now it’s my turn, right?” 

You nod, more focused on the tight coil of pleasure his tongue and fingers are bringing you. Choking on your breath, you sit up on your forearms just in time to watch him shove his cock into you all in one go, screaming his name as your walls convulse tightly around him just as you cum from his fingers circling your clit, making him respond in kind. 

Your walls squeeze tightly around his from your orgasm, unable to relax as he fucks you through the intense wave of pleasure that washes over you. He ignores the wetness that coats his abdomen that comes from your body and leans over to pin your wrists to the bed. All you can do is lay back and take it right now, more than happy to as you feel his balls slap against your ass with the ferocity of which he’s fucking you with. 

Adjusting to an angle that makes him fuck you hard and deep, Kaeya’s mind is far too gone to take the lead in this situation as he focuses solely on the heavenly way your warmth wraps around his desperate cock. There’s no consistency in his thrusts, just the primal urge to keep fucking into you like some sort of doll, obsessed with the way your hole tightens as he aims for spots he knows you need him to brutalise his cockhead against. His head drops to your chest after pulling down the collar of your shirt to lick and bite at your bouncing tits, letting your legs wrap around his waist as you moan loudly. 

“Oh yes fuck just like that Kaeya - ah - fuck! - just keep fucking me like that,” you keen, knowing that the praise was going to keep him exactly where you wanted him. 

“You feel so good wrapped around me,” he pants in response, moving up to press desperate kisses against your neck and jaw. 

“I want to fill you up so bad - I can’t think about anything else-” 

Kaeya cuts off his own words as a grind of his hips against your clit makes you squeeze his dick especially tight, breathily moaning right against your ear. It makes you gush around him, pulling him in for a rough, desperate kiss. He can barely focus on the way your lips and tongue move against his, lost fully in sensation and moving only by sheer instinct at this rate. 

“If you keep moving like that I’m gonna squirt all over you,” you warn, feeling your impending orgasm creeping up your body as your hands fist the fabric of his shirt. 

“You fucking better,” he pants, a smile creeping on his lips as he gains some semblance of coherent thoughts. 

“I’m fucking the shit out of your tight little pussy I deserve some sort of reward.” 

His words make you laugh just a bit, devolving into another rough moan when he decides to keep drilling his cock into that spot that makes you see stars. You’re convinced you’ll rip his shirt as he fucks you to orgasm, squirting all over him like you threatened which only makes him move faster when he hears the wet slap of his heavy balls against your spasming pussy. 

“Feels good, huh baby?” he whines, losing his mind again when you lock his hips in place just in time for him to fill you up. 

You can feel his cum spurting out of him, overflowing out of your pussy to drip down your ass, body going slack as you try to catch your breath. Once you let him go, Kaeya starts to rock slowly into your body with a pleased groan, burying his face into your neck while working off the rest of his orgasm. 

“Must have if you’re crying,” Kaeya teases. 

“Hmm? Whaddya mean?” 

Now that you’re given the chance to recover, your brain becomes mush from the onslaught of pleasure, not even noticing that your face is wet. His fingers wipe away your tears lovingly, wakefulness now in his eyes as he peers down at you. He doesn’t move to pull out of you and you don’t think you really mind, pulling him back down to hold him. 

“Shut up,” you retort, closing your eyes to breathe in the scent of your lover. 

“I already squirted for you don’t push your luck.” 

The statement makes him laugh, carefully adjusting you to rest atop his chest .

“Then would I be asking too much if I wanted to stay inside you just a little bit more? It’s so cold.” For extra emphasis he shivers, playfully swatting your ass to make you jolt. 

“You’re warm so I don’t mind.” 

Your words end with a yawn and just out of sight Kaeya’s gaze softens as he looks down at you making yourself comfortable on him. His hand rests on your back, resting it on your hip. 

“Sweet dreams, alright?” he says softly, knowing you’re just about to drift off by the way your eyes barely stay open. 

The only response he gets is a slight nod as you quickly fall asleep in his arms. He’s much more awake now than he was before but he can’t mind it at all if it means it gives him the chance to hold you close to him like this. 

[x-0ophelia0-x]

Ezra x Jacen’s Nany Reader

Hear me out….. there’s NO WAY in the galaxy that Hera leaves Jacen with only Chopper, I repeat CHOPPER as supervision… that droid has committed war crimes on a daily basis as a form of entertainment, simply because he could.

Sabine has been to busy being a part-time jedi apprentice, and looking for a way to bring her idiot best friend/brother Ezra back home to their Mama Hera..

Kallus is simply too busy as a stay-at-home dad raising his horde of Lesat cubs, while his hubby Zeb is busy working as a part-time recruit trainer for the New Republic..

So.. what’s a VERY pregnant Hera to do when she comes across a young girl, who happens to be the same age as the Son she had just lost, in the streets of a still recovering planet after the fall of the Empire? Watching as the girl gently tends to the sick and injured that others seemed to ignore.. all while this child is clearly malnourished and weak herself.

Surprise bitch, you just got adopted by the coolest Mama in the Galaxy..

Aside from helping Hera around the Ghost with chores, making sure the ship’s baby ready, and studying (because Hera wants to help her new kid after clearly observing her passion for medicine) she eventually becomes Jacen’s teacher and basically the family’s personal Doctor.. (and I mean the WHOLE family.. Zeb tried to avoid his annual check-up once.. wasn’t happy that Kallus ratted him out and basically tricked him into Reader’s office)

The main draw back that Reader seams to have in her personal life though??? Her severe case of “Resting Bitch Face” nobody seems to show any interest in her, and only her adopted family seems to not be bothered by it.. she even tries to do things to make her face less intimidating.. constantly being aware of her facial expressions and doing her best to keep her eyebrows slightly raised and a slight half smile on her lips…

Then Ezra comes back… and you bet your ass as soon as the crying, hugging, lecturing and overall emotional reunion is done.. Hera is dragging Ezra by the ears to get a FULL check-up by the most trustworthy doctor she knows.. and Jacen is happily tagging along, holding his “big brothers” sleeves while waiting for him to meet one of his favorite people.. the outcome is… somewhat unexpected.. Ezra trying to be charming and calling Reader’s “serious face” cute..

And Reader being genuinely flustered by Ezra’s awkward attempt at flirting…

Jacen.. is getting ideas, and Chopper is going to help him because CHAOS WILL RAIN!!!

……. and he’s got years worth of pranks to pull on Ezra.. might as well start now.. 😉

a gremlins Nany.

pairing: Jacen‘s Nany!Readee x Ezra Bridger

warnings: none

word count: 2,1 k

summary: You’re Heras most trusted person. Not only did you take care of her beloved son Jacen, no. You were and still are his Nany and best friend. And not only that, after Ezra’s return, Hera ofc trusts you with his check ups. And Jacen and Chopper have a lot of fun about this.

authors note: It’s not proofread, pls bare with me! 😭 I‘m sick and I gave my best to make it as good as possible :´D I hope this makes sense, I‘m not really familiar with medical stuff, especially when it comes to Star Wars 💀

anywayyyy

enjoyyyy <333

imagine this being Ezra waiting for his routine checkups, thank you xd

As she walked through the streets she didn’t fail to notice a young girl, helping the people in need.

Her way with the injured and sick was more then just gentle.

Despite her own visible weaknesses portrayed by a weak body.

After each treatment she only left them to treat the next one if they reassured her that they’re fine.

„Thank you so much y/n, wouldn’t know what I’d done if it wasn’t for your help“

Said an elderly woman, truly a heartbreaking scene even if this girl was a complete stranger to her.

was.

It didn’t take her long to approach the girl, she waited for her to finish the treatment on another injured citizen before she started to talk, startling the girl on front of her.

„Hey there..“

The girl turned around and met her eyes with the stranger, her gaze was shocked at first but soon turned into one of adoration as she looked at the pregnant woman in front of her.

„H-Hey..!“

„I‘ve been here for a little while and couldn’t help but notice your way of helping your people… could I ask you a question?“

The girl looked up to the green Twi‘lek while nodding a yes.

She didn’t know how to form the question since it was a rather personal one and let’s be honest.. they didn’t talk yet.

However, this planet belonged to the ones with the highest death rates, seeing the poor girl alone here, weakened and injured.. where were her parents?

„Do you have a family here?“

As if she saw it coming the girl nodded a no, a sad expression laying bare on her face.

The Twi‘leks heart ached for her. 

She just lost one child, seeing another one, assuming at the same age as him.. it was too much to just stand by and do nothing to help.

„Would you like to become part of my crew?“

y/n looked up at her, not fully believing her ears yet.

„Are you serious..?“

„Yes“

And just like that a huge smile appeared on her face.

„Of course I’d love to!“

The woman returned y/n‘s smile and offered her her hand.

„Name‘s Hera“

„Name‘s y/n“

-

A few months passed by from the moment where you firstly walked into the Ghost.

The ship wasn’t the biggest but oh force, you’ve never felt more at peace then when you got to enter your cabin.

The ship was cozy and it even had a medbay!

Hera then decided to inform you about the other crew members and their activities. 

That’s also the reason why it was so empty.. however.

Soon you were able to meet everyone, except one boy who Hera told you was missing.

Sabine grew the closest to you (after Hera and chopper ofc).

Even if her timetable was loaded with Jedi training stuff, you two always managed to spend some time together.

Zeb worked at a part time recruit trainer for the New Republic while Kallus stayed at home, making sure that their horde of Lesat cubs wouldn’t destroy everything.

Chopper is Chopper. 

There’s nothing more to that since we all know how he is.

There’s no way that Hera would’ve trust him enough with her still unborn child.

Soooo.. with Kanan gone and Ezra missing, there’s only one person left who she’d trust enough with her baby.

You.

You were studying medicine, something you wouldn’t be able to do without Heras help.

She became something like a mother role for you and ohhh my goodness where our excited for the day the baby would be born.

She didn’t have to ask you, couldn’t even since you started to turn the ship into a baby safe place.. at least the most possible version of this since it’s a spacecraft after all .

Hera was moved to tears, seeing how much effort you put everyday to ensure her baby’s safety while everything that Chopper did was to mess with your stuff.

Yeah you were the right choice, no doubt in that.

„Hey, could I ask you to do me a favor? But before I tell you what it is, just know that whatever you’ll answer is allri-„

„Yes I want!“

„What?“

The woman was too stunned to speak.

„But you don’t know what I’m going to ask you..?“

„If I want to take care of your baby right?? Please tell me that this was your question???“

There was a spark of excitement on your voice that made Hers heart to flutter.

She didn’t know if it were her hormones or her (for now) clouded judgement but she immediately hugged you, fighting back some tears.

„Thank you..!“

-

Some years passed by and thanks to Heras help, you were able to actually get an official status as doctor.

That wasn’t your only ‚job‘ tho. You were also a part time nanny for Jason from the moment on he was born. 

Being the most trusted person available on the ghost pushed your ego, making you think that you can perform both of your ‚jobs‘ at the very same time.

It did make some things harder for you, but it was her baby after all, he was worth it.

People who knew about your story would say that you’re literally shining in comparison to your state from when before Hera found you.

Others at the other hand were kind of scared off by your resting Bitch face, not showing any interest towards you.

Your new family didn’t seem bothered at all by it, not even Jacen, but you still gave it your best to improve your facial expressions.. they never faded tho.. .

So when the day arrived where the boy called Ezra returned, Hera instantly had an assignment for you.

She and basically everyone of the ghost crew used to tell you stories about him, how he made the ultimate sacrifice to safe his crew and Lothal.

Ten years had passed since then, since his disappearance and since you’ve been as good as adopted by Hera.

The days after the big news.. we’ll it’s safe to say that you never saw her this emotional in your entire ten years.

Not even when she was pregnant with Jacen, and this is a statement. 

You weren’t there when he arrived since you had some patients waiting for their treatments, but you soon found out about the happy news when Hera called you through your comm link.

And not long after you heard her knocking on your door, dragging an middle aged man by his ears, while Jacen tagged along, holding him by his sleeves.

She asked you if you could take a look at him, a very good one since he’s been absent for like.. I don’t know… 10 years?

Yeah, sounds reasonable. 

„Please do a FULL check-up. You’re my most trusted doctor on this galaxy.“

„Of corse Hera, well then Ezra.. Please take a seat.“

He freed himself from Heras and Jacens Grasp and went to sit on the special chair. 

Ezra seemed to be excited about the technical stuff that surrounded him.. you’d be too if you’ve been stranded in the middle of nowhere for a decade so.. .

„We’ll wait outside, just tell us when we should come“

Said Hera and with that she and Jacen left the room, leaving you and Ezra alone.

„Okay then.. how are you feeling? Are you injured? Sick?“

Knowing how Important he is to Hera you tried to somehow neutralize your „special“ expression.

And he seemed to notice this, you barely knew him and he already started to change his attitude around you.

„No, I‘m totally fine“

He had a grin on his face while you raised your eyebrow at his answer.

„I still need to take a look at you so-“

He already started to take his shirt off, I mean he didn’t have to, just you her push it slightly upwards but you weren’t complaining. 

Nope.

Not at all.

But you had to keep yourself professional.

„Why did you take your shirt off?“

„For the check-up..? If I’m not wrong that’s what patients to for the lung part?“

„Ah- Yeah sorry. Yes, ehm, thank you“

You checked his heartbeat, his lungs and everything you could do at the moment.

There was one thing that concerned you.

Not his health since it was in a good state.

But the way how he made you feel.

You tried to keep a straight, neutral, friendly face while looking him up, but he made it impossible for you.

„You’re cute“

„What?“

Your movements froze for a short while, this kind of comment was unusual.

„You’re cute. You know.. the way how you try to keep your face straight“

„You’re serious?“

„Yep. Why shouldn’t I be?“

He was charming, handsome, kind, you only knew him for a very short time. Like for real. But there was something positive around him.

And it flustered you.

„Thank you“

„Just telling the truth“

-

Unbeknownst to you two, a very curious Jacen was leaning right against the door, squeezing his ear as close as he could and boy did he smile when he heard Ezra talking to his best friend.

„Jacen, you know that it’s rude to-“

„He told her that she’s cute“

He whispered, loud enough so that Hera understood him.

And her face lit up.

„He what??“

„Shhh.. come here and listen“

This private moment, at least to your knowing, made you happy.

There was finally someone who immediately found interest in you, someone who wasn’t blinded by your facial expressions or your attempt at looking natural.

Weeks passed by and he turned out to continue to be as charming as he was the day you met him.

His genuine, true, loving self made you fall im love with him and the same goes for him with you.

Hera was happy to see how both of your presences affected each other for the better and Jacen was sure that he was destined to play your matchmaker. 

And chopper didn’t let this chance go by.

Jacen wanted to help his best friend and his big brother and Chopper had years worth of pranks to pull on Ezra. 

Chaos will rain

And even if Ezra had warned you that he sensed that something would happen, nothing could ever prepare you for what was to come.

It was a peaceful day at your office.

Your last patients for today waited in the waiting room and Ezra was one of them.

Hera didn’t leave him any other choice then to go and get frequent check ups from you just in case that he really didn’t catch anything on Perridea.

His frequent check ups became known to Jacen and Chopper and they saw the perfect opportunity in this to pull their first prank on you two.

Jacen hid behind the shelf with a music box while Chopper disguised himself as something fitting to his surroundings.

They knew that you’d welcome him into your office with a hug, your relationship witch him had gotten better and better and Jacen didn’t fail to notice this.

Knowing this was the base for this prank.

As Ezra neared himself to open the door to your room, opening the door and greeting you, Choppers mini metallic arm reached out and electro shocked his leg, making him loose his balance and fall straight into your eyes.

The pose you found yourselves right now was more then unexpected as his fall took you by surprise. 

Jacen then didn’t waste any more time and played on the ‚play‘ button of the music box, playing some semantic song which seemed to be popular. 

Chopper then took a photo, beeped some things and left the room with a grinning Jacen as fast as he could.

Your patients where beyond confused at the scene and went to your office to check if everything was alright. 

As you saw them looking you two up and down… your face became the deepest shade of red known to humanity.

Ezra’s too.

This ‚incident‘ may have helped you two to get closer but you were still shy about it.

Jacen and Chopper however had other plans and lets just say that this was just the beginning.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Colin Bridgerton and Christmas (headcanons)

A/N: Colin and Carolling! I shall be posting Anthony’s after this too so expect two posts tonight! As always, I hope you all like! <3

warnings: carolling, singing, very light religious tones, christmas, holiday season, fluff, happiness.

It was a well known secret that Colin Bridgerton could sing, and could sing well.

The eldest three brothers could all sing, but it was Colin who nurtured his voice and could be found humming a tune when lost deep in thought or writing in his extensive journals.

As the year hurtles towards December and advent falls upon them, Colin often catches himself singing the very same carols he has known for most of his life. The very carols he loves.

Colin supposes his love of carols stems from the time spent in church over the festive period when he was younger.

Though that time has lessened as he’s grown older, Colin sings the familiar hymns and carols with fondness.

————————

Colin had never fully immersed himself in charitable pursuits. That wasn’t to say he didn’t give to those in need, but there was never something that he devoted his spare time to.

That is until you came home, close to bursting at the seams with excitement over your new charitable adventure.

Organising luncheons, galas and lectures for charities was nothing new for you. From the moment you took Colin’s name as your own, you dedicated plenty of your time to numerous charities and this latest one had you all flustered - skin flushed from the thrill and from the cold wind.

As you burst into his office, eyes bright, hands fluttering around with elation, Colin fell for you even more.

Explaining your venture to your beloved husband, you could see the excitement come to light in his eyes. Pacing back and forth across his office floor, you explain how you want to raise money to rent rooms in a schoolhouse to improve education for young girls who would not typically have access to maths and English.

Colin loves the idea as much as he loves you.

But he had one question: “How are we going to raise the money?”

You smile. “This is the part you’re going to love… By carolling.”

————————

Colin had never his love of such songs from you. This would be your third Christmas as a married couple - he could hide nothing from you at this point, you knew him just as well as he knew you.

On the morning of the small carol concert, there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground. The air is cold; biting at your cheeks, reddening your nose and turning your breath to white puffs with ever exhale. Colin remains a warm presence by your side; keeping you close as he gathers your hands in his and rubbing them together, doing his best to rub some warmth into them.

Only a few had chosen to sing with you; a small group of ten gather together, drawing enough attention from passers-by to gather a crowd.

Song sheets are handed out and Colin takes a steadying breath before the group begins.

Colin’s voice is rich; he only holds back slightly but feels himself relax when you look up at him with such warmth and adoration in your gaze that his voice becomes louder and his smile becomes brighter.

It isn’t a long concert; five carols where three are Colin’s particular favourites. Applause greets the carollers as their final notes are stolen by the wind. The crowd disperses but not before dropping coins into their charity bucket and wishing them all an enjoyable Christmas period.

Colin remains where he is, watching you as you smile and thank patrons for their donation. Your smile lights up your face; your bonnet dusted with fresh snowflakes as the skies have opened once more. He feels his heart close to bursting in his chest from the pride he feels for you, from the love he harbours for you, and from the sheer enjoyment he experienced when singing.

As the last of crowd disappears, you wander back to man you love with your whole being. A smile is fixed on his face; his blue eyes bright with love as he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before stealing a kiss from your lips.

“Shall we head home?” Colin murmurs, feeling how cold your skin has become.

“I think it was a success,” You comment to Colin as you wander the short distance home.

“I have to agree,” Colin states, “It was a wonderful way to spend a winter’s morning.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I love carols, I love singing,” Colin begins, pausing the walk home to hold you in his arms. “But there is something I love far greater.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“You, my darling. You.”

[hershelchocolate]

do you wanna talk about why wally (or any of your other Huge Faves) are so beloved to you

I honestly think a lot of it came from the fact that, at the time I made them, I really really related to them on a personal level

Wally was the first one, and he was just a design for Wally Franks from Bendy And The Ink Machine for a while. Kinda silly kinda stupid and everyone thinks he's always annoying and in the way, but he's a good kid! And he was fun to draw. So when I needed another filler character to round off a 10-character group, I just shoved him in there so I'd have a chance to draw him more.

But his personality in this environment suddenly gave him an all-new character and all at once he was the kid who came from a rough home, one that always wanted him to be smaller, out of the way, less of himself, but the one thing they couldn't take from him was his unending desire to be kind. Sure he has problems defending himself or setting boundaries or saying "no" in any scenario, but all of that comes from his desire to be kind to everyone he meets.

At the time I could really relate to that because I struggled with a lot of the same things, and as I've made more and more versions of him he's gotten a lot more confident than the original kid hiding scared behind his friends. He still has problems with setting boundaries, that's consistent, but he no longer has problems taking up space

I, on the other hand, am still working on that part 😳

I think the next big obsession was Lyf and the funny thing was? I didn't really care for them at first. They were just the narrator to my favorite Mechs album but they didn't really feel like a character to me.

Then I read Wayfarers

The concept was pretty simple: Lyf stumbles across Nastya post-Out and the two just. Travel together. But something about that made them click in my brain and suddenly I really really loved the concept behind their character.

Someone who was doomed from the start to be part of something they didn't understand, set up to lose everything and everyone they ever cared about, but who pushed through it all, survived, made a friend, and was thriving. There were setbacks, consequences of what set them on this path in the first place, but they had someone there with them who understood what they were going through and offered unending support.

I discovered the Mechs during March 2020. I'm sure you can see how I might have related to the concept of "my entire life is falling apart at the seams and nothing will ever be the same again but at least I can rely on the people around me"

I rediscovered them during my thesis year at college and became even more obsessed with Lyf, but this time in a slightly different way. I think the idea of graduating college was a whole new "my life is falling apart and will never be the same again", except this time I had a better idea about how rough it was going to be. The fans were always so kind in the tags of my silly notebook doodles, and looking forward to making and uploading those got me through a lot of really rough days at school. I wish I had the time to draw them more often.

It took me a really long time to connect with Finch, actually. At first I was even disappointed that I had to talk about them a lot solely for being the protagonist, because I found a lot of the side characters to be more compelling (Lorelai specifically for reasons I do not have time to get into).

And then I started writing the outline.

They're just a kid, man. They don't know what they're doing. The world is so big and they are so, so small. Everyone else seems to have a handle on things and for some reason refuses to tell them. No one is giving them the home-life support they need, and they have to figure it out themself, and everyone gets mad at them for getting it wrong.

And then suddenly I would protect them with my life

I saw a lot of myself in them all of a sudden when I realized just how lost and afraid they were to be navigating a world they didn't understand and no one seemed to be understanding how to help them in the first place. The fact that they were so young and childlike just meant that instead of relating to them, I wanted to protect them. It actually hurt to write a few of the scenes in Whisper Court because I wanted to go in there so bad and tell them they were loved, that they were fine existing the way they were, that there was nothing else they could have done.

I think it says a lot about me that these specific characters struck a chord with me and made me relate to them

But I think it says more about me that my instinct in every single one of these was to find a way to let them be happy and loved. Because maybe then I want myself to be happy and loved too

[abyssurvived]

@d3ltanu sent ❛  please  touch  me .  ❜ from here! ( accepting! ) tw / cw for read more; usfw / nsfw!

             words make hands pause in their gentle drag up milky thighs, a single eyebrow raised as blend rises from between the blonde’s legs; her hands continue their caress, once again nearly reaching their apex before retreating back down to calves, teasing smile pulling at the blend’s lips as she leans forward over the lawyer, ❛ —-i am touching you baby. ❜ blend hovers over waiting mouth, detouring at the last moment to start pressing barely-there kisses onto the skin of elle’s throat, tongue passing a burning trail of kitten licks down the lawyer’s collarbone until she gets to her covered breasts, blend’s hands leaving sinful legs to momentarily massage them, a soft moan escaping her at the feel of them, ❛ —-god, you’re so sweet baby girl, i could eat you up—. ❜

                impatient hands begin to unclasp elle’s bra, carefully lifting it off of her ( blend’s ears still ring from the last time she had made the mistake of nearly ripping beloved lace; in her defence, how could one control theirself when their lover was wrapped pretty enough to be a present? ), pressing wet & open mouth kisses down the centre of her chest and stomach, tongue peaking out to swipe at her bellybutton before blend is situating herself on her knees, and between elle’s legs— her grin is eager, her pulse throbbing with the need to feel the lawyer writhe under her, to hear those beautiful noises ebb out of tempting mouth— elle’s legs are gently guided to rest over blend’s shoulders, teeth nipping at parted thighs before tongue is soothing over apologetically; she had planned to draw this out, to get elle begging, to get her soaking and near vibrating with the same need that pulses through the blend— ivy’s cunt is soaked under constricting denim, the crotch seam supplying the perfect teasing pressure to make eyes roll back and mouth slack before she remembers herself ( there’ll be time for that later ).

              blend leans back, settling her hands strong and sturdy on the outside of elle’s thighs, and taking in the sight before her; elle, half clothed, her skirt shoved up haphazardly and resting across her hips, the wet patch of her panties a siren call— ivy’s mouth waters, earthy orbs flickering up to glance at elle’s face once more before she’s pressing kisses to elle's trembling, open thighs once more, a single digit leaving it’s position to rub a teasing circle over where the lace is dampest before sliding the garment away, another moan escaping the blend as she breathes hot & warm onto the twitching organ ❛ —-i meant what i said elle; you’re so sweet, i could eat you up, ❜ and then her mouth is closing around elle’s clit, earthy green orbs rolling back into her head once more at the taste of elle exploding on her tongue— she suckles at the organ, her tongue flickering across it, the hand holding the lace leaving to instead help the other in pulling the girl’s hips into blend’s face.

[cybertronian-cupid]

Sorry can I ask you to write about how TFP Megatron, Sound offer their s/o to take a bath with their participation.(nfsw, fertilization)?

I will be grateful❤️

No need to apologize, and here's the pregnancy sex in a bathtub!💥 Some fluff at the end as well.~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

They let the robe fall to the ground and grasp Megatron’s servo.

“Careful love,”

Soundwave’s cables protectively wrap around their lower back, 

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass, I think we established that.”

“Indeed, a reason why we should take special care with how you are handled.” 

They’d roll their eyes, if their attention wasn’t focused on the warm water embracing their aching body. Megatron’s servos pull them back towards his chassis by their hips. Soundwave’s blunt, thin digits reach for the swelling abdomen, tracing the jagged lines where the skin stretches, his touch almost reverent. Megatron's claws slide from their hip and begin carefully kneading into the sore lower back, other servo sliding down between their legs. 

Soundwaves digits scrape firmly against his armor before he could touch.

“::You shall have the first place next cycle, Soundwave,::” The half growled recording is full of the lewd moans from their human, and heat rises up their neck at the memory.

Megatron switches both his servos to their thighs, spreading their legs as far as they’ll go.

Tentacles that unfurl from Soundwave’s cables stroke across their cunt, his digits still tracing their stomach. Megatron fondles their breasts, hefting the heavy weight and squeezing, sharp claws rolling sensitive nipples.

“You’ll take such wonderful care of our sparkling,”

Their toes curl with the sensation of shallow thrusts from Soundwave’s cables, tentacles spreading them wider with each thrust.

“Soundwave- '' the plea is cut off by Megatron’s growl shaking deep from his chassis, the force of it reverberating down their aching muscles. They lean back, face firmly nuzzling against him.

“Yes, yes oh this feels so good-” 

Megatron muffles their words with a deep kiss. His other servo possessively grips their swollen middle, the claws still careful to not scratch at taut skin. Soundwave finally withdraws his tentacles, the pointed tip of his spike pressing at their entrance. Megatron bites at their lip with a snarl when they attempt to look at the reflection of their cunt in Soundwave’s visor. He laps at spots of blood seeping from where his fangs have pierced their lip with their whine, his engine turning down to a purr, leaving their attention free to fully enjoy the bliss of Soundwave’s spike seating deep inside of them, withdrawing and beginning a harsh, fast pace. They find a seam in Megatron’s forearm and brace against it, water splashing over the tub with each thrust.

Soundwave’s servos grab the soft thighs, cables moving forward and possessively curling around the belly, attempting to nudge Megatron’s claws out of the way.

“Do not assume you spiking them first gives you any special privileges Soundwave.” Megatron warns in a low voice.

A recording of Knockout mocks back.

“::Wouldn’t dream of it, my Liege.::” 

A tentacle latches onto a nipple, tugging in imitation of suckling. His pace picks up, plating flaring, steam rising from where water makes contact with his hot metal.

“You’ve been acting bold my friend,” Megatron growls, his servo maneuvering their partner on their side, spreading the leg in his grip even more, allowing Soundwave a new angle to draw sounds of pleasure from their beloved. His denta curls in a grin, sharp teeth glinting when his glossa slides over them, optics dimming.

“A wonderful quality of a future sire.”

Soundwave grips at Megatron’s servo and finally overloads, his cable squeezing their partner’s stomach in a show of another trait he will have as a sire.

He’ll make sure their sparkling is safe.

“Of course you will,” Megatron’s field brushes against the other’s flaring field. His spike transforms from its casing, tip nudging at the underside of Soundwave’s. Their partner attempts to grind against it, trying to convince him to get on with it. 

“They need, they need both of you.”

Soundwaves tentacles focus on their nipples, smearing some of the leaking milk around.

“And they shall get both of us,” Megatron soothes, rearranging their position in his lap, before pushing himself deeper into them as soon as Soundwave withdraws. 

Sounwave has filled them well, his transfluid, sharpening the senses of newly onlined sire protocols. He leans forward and grinds his hips, spike setting a steady rhythm, pulsing in them with each clench of their walls. They pant, eyes closed in bliss when they feel Soundwaves helm press against their middle. Their hands grip his helm, curling around a sensitive wire and tugging, drawing a staticy moan. 

They repeat the motion, as Megatron nuzzles his helm into their neck, denta scratching at their shoulder. They ease up, and instead pinch at the cable, crying out when the suckling at their nipples becomes more forceful, blunt digits digging into Megatron’s thigh plating, the knuckles pressing against theirs when Soundwave kneads his servos into the hard metal and overloads. Megatron grunts, thrusting deep and sharp, and they groan as they are pumped with his transfluid, feeling it spill into the water when their body can’t take any more of it. His thrusts end when his spike locks in place, securing both loads of transfluid inside.

The three of them bask in the half empty tub, the air filled with thick steam that tingles with electricity.

“Stunning,” Megatron whispers into their ear, kissing their cheek, one servo reaching down to caress Soundwave’s helm.

A small tune plays, ending with a sound similar to a ring of a hotel bell. The two mechs tense.

“Tell me you heard that,” Megatron says in a hushed voice, optics widened. Soundwave’s vocalizer clicks an affirmative. The tune repeats like that for another time, before the tones turn louder and rings demanding, followed by a sharp kick that has their partner grunt, hand pressing against the spot. When both of them press their servos over the hand of their beloved’s pregnant belly, the tune evens out and the three of them listen to the happy noises of their future bundle of joy.

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

- Ahem. - Zane coughed, drawing attention to himself. - Boyos, ladies, bots and every feckin' other concievable point on, around and beyond the spectrum, we're gathered here today to get these two gentlegeezers married again, because the last wedding got interrupted by a bunch of shitehead tentacle-faces. Blah, blah, whatever. If any of you object to this union, speak now and get shot or shut yer japes forever.

[...] Sure, sure. Was that before or after the automaton-assisted murder?

But his beloved has forbidden him from going out until he recovers, and a Hammerlock never betrays someone's trust, especially if that someone is a person they care about. At least, that's what his family liked to tell themselves - they usually didn't actually obey that rule. [...]

[...] I AM ETERNAL, INVINCIBLE. - the meat walls close in - I KEEP MYSELF ALIVE. - the staircase flattens into a slope - I LIVE IN MY OWN GLORY, MY OWN PERSONAL LIGHT, WHERE THE SHADOW OF PAIN 'N' PAST CANNOT TOUCH ME. - the voice laughs one last time.

We both recognize what needs to be done, an’ that’s when you allow me. [...] I once mapped these lines, charted ‘em, and now I’m ripping ‘em like an old shirt’s seams.

You are a manor onto yourself. [...]

- You care for those you love, an' they care right back. Least, that's what my father told me, or to be precise, what I understand from what he told me. It's confusin' sometimes. - Wainwright chuckled. - Now, eat. You deserve it.

There was another constant now, one that he also loved. This one wasn't so chaotic - quite the exact opposite, in fact.

[...] asinine reasons are why this planet’s still kickin’. Either they were gon’ go crazy - like they did - or die.

[...] Wainwright recalled the last time he was in there: an unfinished taxidermy on the table, sketches of various creatures on the floor, a half-empty cup of tea on the end-table and a scent of dried blood. It was... odd and unfamiliar, yet somehow comforting.

[...] Slightly suspicious, like a burnt smell from the kitchen or a gun not clicking on reload the exact same way it did the last 263 times... but that thought didn't stay in his mind for long.

The beams, the paths, they converge. I- I can’t, oh god. I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re being laid bare before me [...]

[...] he had more time now, time to rest and enjoy himself. In a way, he felt more grounded, leading the mere humble life of a mildly deranged wealthy man who doesn't need to rely on meagre royalties and stretching the allowance his parents gave him when he left his homeworld, never to return there again.

- Not to be all "back in my day" - Wainwright said, his warm voice punctuated by his hands pinning the buttons of his shirt - but these days, you can just walk up to a Quick-Change an' will yer dick 'n' balls into existence. When I was a boy, we had to get ourselves the long way.

By jove, you look handsome. A carbon tesselation [...] You reflect my light like a fine mirror, or like a cephalopod mimicking its environs.

Unfortunately, they didn't have the time to savor its flavor properly. They were in too much of a hurry to savor its flavor on eachother's lips.

[...] The blood will split itself, or blood shall be split here.

I find you there, holdin’ me. Me, as a fresh body. You’re surrounded by wonders uncountable and yet only desire one, so you pull me outta there like a sculptor makin’ men from marble. I can feel the love you put into every motion of this needle, every slash of that knife. Eternally preserved as part of your heart.

Wainwright felt his own eyes grow heavy with affection, his mind waning like a celestial body with a name lost to time. [...]

The over-man is three meters tall. [...] throwing bread to the oviraptucks in the lake with two hands, and sketching their anatomy with a third. The pencil is too small for it, yet it doesn’t break.

Well excuse me, Sir Jakobs, I can't exactly use your last name like anyone else, now can I? / Is that not because you stole it, Mr. Hammerlock? / And you stole mine, Sir Jakobs. / That is not an excuse, mister. / It's called gettin' even, sir. Frontier justice, if ya may. / I say, I say. If so, then I shall "get even" for all this affection you've given me, mister.

Your arms. Yes, yours. Therein lies the promise of that great and terrible feeling of safety.

- I... I know you love me. You have said that a thousand times, and proved it at least thrice that number. [...] But sometimes I'm afraid I'm just not the man you fell in love with anymore. It has been years, dear. So much has happened since then, and I sometimes fear what might happen next.

[...] I can't help but feel I am the one with my neck exposed, here. / I am always that when I am with you, in a way. [...]

Alistair raised his head [...] Oh god, he looked so pained.

The word left him like steam from an opened pot. It was not easy to say for him, it never was. But with Winny being the only one to hear it, it was easier.

a slow, groggy settling into rest, like the setting sun and all the beautiful colors coming with that sort of phenomenon. / Alistair’s big, beautiful, brown, blood-and-retina eye - already half-shut - finally closed, the curtains of his bright soul sealed for the day; [...]

[...] did I fucking recognize it then. Hard to not recognize that particular mind's eye vision of a certain man when his white suit is soaked through with blood.

- This… erm, reminds me of the time I spent a weekend in a cabin with my first proper long-term boyfriend. Unfortunately, the corporate death squad his wife sent after him cut our stay short…

I retreat to my den to hibernate through the eclipse winter, as an animal does. [...]

[...] Oh, you're so beautiful like this, with your gunpowder curls exposed against the pillow like billowing smoke against the clouds.

[...] You must wrestle the horrors from within yourself and try to make something meaningful out of them. That's the way it always is. That's the way it always was.

Then, you open to me like a door, and I can feel myself sinking even deeper. I embrace this and that of you, the still and beating, and in turn you embrace me from the inside.

Little boy who is a man, where are your friends? [...]

[...] Normally, a female asset is to be inducted at an earlier age, but a procedural alteration had to be introduced, accounting for unforeseen disruption of homeostasis.

[...] Tears poured out of his organic eye like water out of a high pressure pipe. His nose was getting runny, his face was searingly hot. It was so, so, so hard to think like this, the weight of the world closed onto him.

- Well, what else am I supposed t' say? Bastard who caused an entire war to aerate his unleavened bread of an ego?

- Winny, my love, - Alistair raised his head again - would you be so kind as to carry my faggot arse to bed?

[...] that I am a warlock and either should or would be burned at the stake, were it not for my obvious status [...] Baseless rumors aside, things have somewhat changed since that fateful day when Elpis shone bright enough to be visible from here.

It's the crucible, the forge. Can't forge something without hitting it a lot, Father says in one of his many wisdoms.

cant do a proper art vs artist till i get home but haha what if i showed my favorite lines i wrote this year

[rokutouxei]

hiding hunger

ikemen vampire | E | 6198 le comte de saint-germain / OC 

Seiya has always kept her feelings for Comte under wraps, but what happens when something lets it slip? Will it finally awaken what has been hiding in Comte's heart for the longest time?

-

When Seiya realizes that her most treasured bound leather notebook is in Arthur’s hands, her instinct is to lunge at him. What she doesn’t expect is that he would drop it.

Her heart falls to the ground as quickly as her notebook does; the loose sheets of paper littered extensively with little notes about and drawings of no one else but him, of course, Le Comte de Saint-Germain, fly out into the air.

To fall like paper snow onto the waiting garden, where said Comte is taking his afternoon tea.

“Arthur!” is the most of a reprimand she manages to shriek out before she’s running off to the stairs to pick up what’s left of her dignity scattered on the garden grounds.

-

By the time she gets there, Sebastian has picked up a considerable amount of her loose drawings, both to her relief and embarrassment. She scrambles to gather what else is there, her face heating up with every page she lifts. Comte, reading in the study. Comte, addressing the residents at a dinner party. Comte, in the more formal clothes he wears for events. Comte, Comte, Comte.

All her wandering thoughts about him, strewn across the grass like confetti.

Arthur arrives soon after, to reach out an arm to help. She frowns at him deeply, the corners of her eyes shiny with tears.

“Now, now, no need to be so up—”

“This is your fault,” Seiya whispers lowly, trying her best so that Comte does not hear her. The tone in her voice makes Arthur stand back up, hand scratching the back of his neck.

She doesn’t know what to do. Her little crush on le Comte wasn’t exactly a secret—but it sort of was. To Comte, at least. Her closest friends had an inkling, but Vincent and Isaac weren’t exactly the type that pried. She’s sure Sebastian knows just because he’s Sebastian. And the more observant ones like Arthur and Theo definitely would have known too.

And Maybe Comte, too, but—there’s nothing like confirming a rumor, confessing a crime, with a gallery’s worth of art stumbling out of a window, right?

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to say it: keeping it a secret was just the least she could do to quiet her heart.

Leonardo is one of her closest companions. He has also been with Saint-Germain longer than anyone else in the mansion. So when Leonardo told her not to keep her hopes up about Comte, she said, “okay.”

And at this point, she’s mastered the art of keeping her feelings bottled tightly in her heart. She pours it out only in the scribbles of her pen.

And now it was here, laid bare in front of Saint-Germain’s eyes.

She holds back the sniffle as she gets up from her knees. Sebastian approaches her while she’s dusting her skirt, a sheaf of her drawings in hand. Her heart rises to her throat once she notices that the Comte is, in fact, watching her.

She has only the briefest of moments to speak before her voice goes away altogether. With a nod to Sebastian in thanks, she says, “Sorry for interrupting your tea time, Comte,” bowing lowly in regret before turning away again, heading off to the mansion sadly, Arthur following close behind.

-

Comte watches her without a word as she makes her escape back to the mansion. He had wanted to help, rising from his chair to pick up some of the illustrations, but he was sent back down by Sebastian. The butler said he should leave the menial task to him. That was rather true, by etiquette, but in consideration of the contents of the drawings, Comte knew better.

He knows Seiya is an artist. She spends a lot of her free time drawing quietly in nooks and crannies she finds comfortable to work in. Sometimes she joins Vincent out when he paints. Sometimes she accompanies Napoleon and Isaac when they go to teach the kids, so she can sketch and draw out in the city with company. She had even shown him some of her illustrations in the past—but only with a little nagging from Leonardo.

…Ah, yes, Leonardo.

Seiya and Leonardo have a peculiar relationship, one that Comte has always thought was akin to lovers. When she first arrived at the mansion, Comte had asked his old friend if he could leave Seiya in his care. There were complaints—as he expected—but Leonardo took up the favor in time. It has been months since then, and she and Leonardo are rather intimately close to one another; it’s easy to find them snuggled against each other in random sofas in the mansion sleeping. There are also mornings when they both emerge out of Leonardo’s room in the morning for breakfast.

It was hard not to imagine that they were lovers.

But were they?

Comte had never given it much thought because while the hunger resides in him, a wolf sleeping in the cave, he isn’t the type to go after something, someone, that his friend already holds. He has no interest in coveting something that isn’t available to him, to begin with. In hindsight, he recalls that Leonardo hadn’t spoken to him about anything regarding his relationship with Seiya either, so perhaps—

“More tea, sir?”

He takes a deep breath. Thinks of Seiya with her lavender hair and her light blue eyes, glassy when she looked at him earlier, sheets of paper with his face on it in her hands.

The heart is a troublesome thing, he thinks, as he hands his teacup quietly to Sebastian.

-

Saint-Germain had intended to just let it unravel.

For the mystery to go on its own pace. For him to wait until Seiya is ready to tell her feelings for him to his face.

Unfortunately for the poor Comte, his heart is a stubborn one.

It happens before he even notices—how his eyes begin to wander. Up and down the mansion when he is unoccupied, hoping for a glimpse of her in the hallway. When he sees her and she is busy, he watches. Eyes grazing the curves of her body, the long lines of her legs, and the roundness of her breasts arching against the seams of her corset.

Seiya is a quiet girl, and for that, she does most of her talking through the rest of her body; the way she tugs at her sleeves when she is nervous, the little tug of the corner of her mouth when she is pleased, the crinkle of her nose when she is embarrassed, the way her eyebrows shoot up when she is surprised. Comte had noticed these in the past, and perhaps have teased her a little about it as well, but—until now, he hadn’t really thought much about it.

It’s different now.

Now, when he gets the opportunity to talk to her, he notices all the little things: the flush on her cheeks, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she curls forward toward him when he speaks. It even gets to the point where he gets embarrassed with how lost he is in the conversation, marveling at all the little details he is only now noticing. How much had he been missing all this time, and how long had he been blind?

This goes on for days, then weeks. Comte is astonished at himself for every little thing he notices. He and Seiya do not bring up what had happened with the drawings. Perhaps they do not need to. Eventually they return to their friendly conversations as if nothing had happened at all, as if it was just another mishap tucked away into the past.

He never sees the notebook again—as if she is much more careful with where it is now, away from his sight.

But there are other things Comte notices.

About himself. The way something in his heart stills whenever he sees her cuddled against Leonardo in the library while reading a book. The way a smile rises golden in his face whenever she comes up to him, to tell him about a new painting or a new musical piece or a new chapter of Sherlock Holmes. The way his heart pounds when it’s late at night and he remembers her, a fleeting thought that casts glitters all over his mind, thoughts he will try to brush away but still find there, hiding in its corners, an eternity from now.

The way he becomes more watchful of how Leonardo takes care of her—has she eaten? Where did she fall asleep, where are you carrying her to?—like he is trying to take on the role, see if he can fit a spot next to her in between the two of them, even if he isn’t so sure she is his for the taking.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain is a greedy man.

Leonardo knows this. And Leonardo notices.

Comte does not.

And just like that, the sleeping wolf begins to wake.

-

Leonardo doesn’t often go out on trips. In his long history of staying with Saint-Germain, Leonardo’s trips were often of the “I don’t know if I’ll come back” nature—the kind with the hanging goodbyes only those who have the rest of eternities to live can truly become accustomed to.

He goes to the city, sure, beloved as he is to the other citizens downtown, but to go out on long trips outside of Paris isn’t something that occurred a lot, except if he was running away. So when Leonardo announces that he would be out for “a couple of weeks to the countryside”, Comte knows that there is something up.

And true enough, there is something up, because when asked why he was leaving, Leonardo’s answer is the most deadpan “I’m getting tired of seeing you make that face.”

Comte understands without elaboration.

In a few days, Leonardo is gone.

The weeks leading up to Leonardo’s departure meant that Seiya hung around him like a baby koala a lot. Once he’d left, she is left drifting about, wandering the halls as if looking for anchor—spending time with Isaac, watching Vincent paint.

But it’s the nights that are ruthless.

Sleeping in her room with a too-big bed in a too-quiet mansion that smells too clean without the constant assault of tobacco—Seiya somehow cannot sleep properly without Leonardo around. Her sleep becomes so erratic she has become a sort of Leonardo herself, being found by the residents sleeping in the middle of the day in the most unexpected of places—on a stool in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop; in the gazebo at the garden, Vic and King at her side; on the sofa in the library, curled up uncomfortably.

Comte finds himself walking down the hallways of the mansion looking for her at odd hours of the day, a blanket in tow, to make sure she is comfortable, to make sure she is warm. He knows that to her he is not Leonardo, but he can try to be a suitable substitute.

In truth, she sleeps because when she is awake, the sound of Leonardo’s parting words with her echoes in her brain like an alarm. “There’s only so much time I can buy for you, cara mia,” he had said, ruffling her hair before he left. Seiya understands but at the same time she doesn’t. The deep-gold silhouette of Saint-Germain watching over them at the staircase burns itself at the back of her eyelids.

Leonardo is so cruel, telling her to not keep her hopes up but then opening the door. Shining the light. Leading her down the hall.

He’s just the same as his old friend.

A week into Leonardo’s trip, the dark circles under Seiya’s eyes have grown to a worrisome shade, the kind that Comte just can’t let pass. So on one afternoon, in-between sharing tea with her, even when he knows it would spell the death of him, he offers: “You could sleep with me, if you like.”

She nearly chokes on the jasmine tea she’s just taken a sip of. “Pardon?”

“You haven’t had good sleep the past week, have you not? If you want company, I can be a warm body.”

Seiya…hesitates. She could say yes, of course, as it ultimately means more time spent with him—and it wasn’t like she was admitting to anything by agreeing to it. Just friendly, platonic naps, the kind she also took with Leonardo. But at the same time she feared her will would break, at the touch of his arms around her, the thrum of his pulse underneath his clothes—he might just ruin her and make her surrender.

But when she looks up to make sure Comte is really offering her this, the honey gold of his eyes only gets her to say “Yes… please?”

It starts… slow. It’s a dynamic they’ve never tried before, as someone Comte has always felt one step higher than her, a distance she could never find the courage to cross. Being with Leonardo is easy, because he treats her like a younger sibling, the comfort, familiarity, and tease of an older brother to a sister he wants to protect. But with Comte? The race of her heart in her chest would only serve to get her caught.

But then it gets easy.

She first starts with accompanying Comte in his room as he’s working. As she readjusts her sleeping schedule, she sneaks in naps in his bed or on armchairs and sofas, the scribble of his pen on paper lulling her to rest. Later on, she begins to work around him as well—sometimes she reads, sometimes she draws; he spots the notebook she’d been hiding from him as she resumes making sketches of him. They have tea together in the afternoon. When he has something to do at town, she accompanies him. When she wants alone time but would still like him around, he stays in his room and she lays at the lounge chair in the balcony, the one overlooking the Paris horizon.

Leonardo has been gone for three weeks.

And at this point, it feels… just fine. Seiya misses him, for sure, but having Comte as company is an experience she appreciates having had. The incident at the garden is now long behind them. It’s as if they’ve found a suitable rhythm for the two of them, one they can live by.

But it isn’t enough.

Not yet.

And Leonardo is coming home soon, because there is only so long the Renaissance man can buy for Comte, and Saint-Germain knows this. The longer Comte spends with Seiya the more he learns how much her company means to him. Sure, he has driven the thought at the back of his mind for the longest time, and maybe he’s not taken care of the feeling properly. But it’s still there, growing roots in his mind, enclosing his heart, drawing nourishment out of it.

Making him thirsty.

Making him want.

The wolf quietly sitting in the bushes, waiting for the perfect moment to chase and pounce.

He can deny his heart but not the lunge of his pulse, not the pain of fangs growing sharper the more the scent of her lingers in his room, her shampoo on the bedsheets, her perfume in the air. His heart is patient but his hands are not.

And time and fate wait for no one.

-

Comte takes two bottles of rouge per day; one in the morning, and one in the evening. His thirst has placated through the years; it only flows calmly inside of him.

But not as of late. Sebastian’s brought him his fourth bottle late in the afternoon. The butler looks at him curiously, and offers to take the sleeping Seiya—out in the veranda—back to her room to sleep.

“No,” is Comte’s quick answer, a little too quick that Sebastian wavers, and with a deep breath Comte composes himself and adds, “it’s alright.”

(It isn’t quite so.)

He downs the bottle of rouge slowly, feeling the blood going down his throat. Making sure it’s there, as if telling his instincts: this is your share. Stop longing for something else. But his fangs still hang painfully in his mouth, searching for flesh.

Maybe if he covers her scent with a sheet, he’ll relax.

He stands up, picks up one of the folded blankets on the bed, and heads out to the veranda for Seiya. The southern-facing veranda lets the sun leave an angled golden glow on the balcony; Comte traces it with his gaze from the city, back to the lounge where the one he loves sits.

She’s lying on the sofa with her leg raised up, perhaps after having been used as a table for her sketching; the open notebook on her lap reveals a sketch of the city. The other sketchbook next to her is folded closed, but a couple of pages peek out from in between, revealing little sketches of Saint-Germain—the same kind he’d seen that afternoon in the garden.

Not that Comte is paying attention to the sketches when she’s right there, with the milky line of her long legs underneath her stockings; the plush flesh of her thighs where her skirt has ridden up; the curves of the top of her breasts under her blouse; the small, pink o of her mouth slightly open as she sleeps; the brush of her bangs light on her forehead; the flush on her cheeks a healthy, vibrant glow.

He’s about to drape the blanket he’s brought with him when her even breathing is interrupted by a sighed syllable. He holds the blanket in his arms as he waits for her to finish the word.

“…main…”

Hm?

“Ss…ger…”

Her breath hitches and she curls a little tighter, the notebook on her lap falling quietly on the floor. Her foot curls against her other ankle; her thighs rub against each other.

“Comte… Saint-Germain…”

And then she moans.

That’s it.

Something howls and sings inside of him and he listens to it. The blanket drops to the ground as Comte falls to his knees next to her like a devotee. He encloses her mouth with his; restraint snapping like a frail string. She makes a half-asleep moan at the feeling of it and it goes straight down his cock, lighting him on fire. When she reaches out for him on instinct, he envelops her with her arms right back.

She opens her eyes slowly, as if she’s still asleep. “Am I… dreaming?”

Comte brushes the stray hairs off her face and says, “Even better.”

It doesn’t register immediately. Seiya reaches out to press the palm of her hand against Comte’s cheek as if making sure he’s real. Comte slides a hand on her calf, feeling the warmth of her flesh through the stockings.

And then it hits.

Seiya jolts backward on instinct, knees bending in front of her as she lets go of Comte like he’s hot. “I’m—Comte, I—”

“Seiya,” he says, the syllables of her name rolling out of his mouth like something sacred, “Tell me. Tell me and I’ll show you.”

“Le Comte…”

His voice sounds strained. “Tell me, let me, and I’ll show you what you do to me.”

Seiya takes a moment.

Lets it linger; the gleaming glow of the afternoon sun over the both of them; the hunger in his eyes; the fear that was thrumming underneath her skin;

The need.

She brushes his bangs off his forehead so she sees him clearly, and then says, “I love you.”

And it’s like something snaps.

Saint-Germain kisses her like she’s the sun and he’s been underground for months. One of his hands cradles her head, tangling in between the lavender strands of her hair. The other holds her cheek, to prove that she’s there, as if convincing himself that he’s not just at wits’ end clinging into hallucinations.

He gives her a moment to breathe; holds her heart in his hands when he brushes off with his thumb the pooled saliva at the corner of her mouth and says: “I can’t believe you’ve gone on for so long without knowing how much I’ve wanted you.” And when she moves her lips as if to retaliate or to deny, Comte gets up and pushes her further onto the sofa, “Talk later” coming out harsh from his mouth.

His hands are quick as he undoes her garments, but the ease is nowhere near coolheaded. Something burns underneath his skin and only touching her can cool it. He starts with the ribbons and hooks of her skirt and then inward; tugs off her blouse in between leaving bruising kisses on her mouth—he still can’t get enough of her—and loosens the lacings of her undergarments with precision.

But by this time he’s run out of his patience, so he sinks his fingers into her stockings and rips them apart.

The gasp is half of surprise and half of pleasure. Comte does not stop until the stockings are nothing but tattered cloth pooling on the floor. Seiya does not feel fully bare until this moment. The thrum of blood in her ears makes her dizzy; she thinks of the scar she’s always had to hide on her leg, and in a panic, she suddenly whispers, “Wait—out here? We should go—”

Comte does not need to shush her; the words go back down her throat when his hands touch her bare calf. Time stills; his fingers, earlier all brute force and tearing apart, are gentle as they trace up her leg; he runs his fingers down the discolored flesh like a reverent worshipper. He raises her leg up toward him and presses a trail of kisses downward.

She sighs at the sensation and it makes Comte look up at her.

The full force of his gaze into hers leaves her unsteady—will she ever get used to him being this way?

For a moment, the instinct is to hide. The instinct of prey in the face of a predator, Seiya tries to jerk her leg back toward her but Comte does not budge. She decides to attempt to close them instead, to push him away, but his hands are on her knees, holding her thighs apart.

When Seiya catches Comte graze his tongue underneath his fang, like nursing it, she knows she is a goner. 

Comte positions her knees over his shoulders and then proceeds to have a taste of her. The heat and scent of her sex against his face nearly drives him to the point of insanity. But this is a meal he would like to relish. He presses small kisses down her slit before urging the folds open with his fingers, Seiya panting above him; his nose nudges her clit and her hands fly to his hair.

“Comte…” she cries out, her voice hoarse, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. When Comte looks up at her, a shudder runs down her spine.

“‘Abel,’” he says, gently, pressing a kiss on her inner thigh. “That’s my name. Call me that.”

Seiya nods; slides her fingers from the flaxen mop of his hair to his cheek, and croons out: “Abel.”

God, he thinks, just how much can this woman drive me insane?

Much to Seiya’s delight (and embarrassment), Comte has a sharp learning curve that points him in the right direction in no time. His tongue teases her sensitive bundle of nerves, circling and teasing until all she can do is sob out his name. Her fingers leave crescent-moon marks against his scalp but it only urges him on; lathers two fingers with the slick coming out of her before slipping them inside her wet heat.

The world is spinning. Has it been an eternity or only a moment?  Comte is not giving her what she wants, just dangling her over the edge, giving her the sweet taste of it but not enough to satisfy. Tongue making delicate work of her pussy, fingers of one hand curling inside of her, another squeezing her breast like seeking comfort—she lifts her fist to her mouth and bites into it as Comte toys with her a little bit longer, long fingers finding something electric, grazing it, molding it, and then—

She falls. The orgasm is unlike anything else—not when it means everything at the same time: that maybe Comte does return her feelings, that Comte wants to do this with her, that Comte is thinking of her—she shivers and her heels dig against his back as she spasms against him; and he lets her, continues to eat her out for the entirety of it, wringing her dry and overstimulated.

“Abel!” she cries out, hands flying to his face to get him to look up at her and to pause lest she loses all that’s left of her sanity. His face is slick with her juices and it sends a new wave of warmth through her but she’s had enough. “Take me, please. Have me.”

“If you so wish,” Comte says, running the back of his hand against his lips before kissing her again; he doesn’t let go even as he readjusts their position into a comfortable one. Her legs curl around his waist as if on instinct. Comte quickly undresses, his coat and vest landing on the floor and his bottoms kicked somewhere else; his shirt unbuttoned all the way. When her wandering touch strays onto the sharp curls of trailing yellow hair upward his stomach, he guides her hand toward his cock, relishing in her face’s darkening shade of red. She can barely wrap her hands around his girth; for a moment she worries about it being too big. “Guide me,” he says—an order and not a request—and it makes her breath stop in her throat.

But her need is stronger than her shyness, and so she guides his hardness against her dripping cunt, sighing as she rocks it between her folds before slotting it into her. Comte lifts her hips up once he’s in, supporting her as he slides inch by inch to fill her. He brushes her hair to the back of the sofa, out of the way; her hands cling onto her biceps as she begins to feel the weight of him inside of her.

She spots Comte looking at something beyond her but she doesn’t get to ask before he roughly jolts forward, causing her to cry out.

Seiya has always thought that Comte had a monster hiding inside of him; below his coolly composed demeanor, there was a hungry beast in him that he had long learned to tame. Now, here, fucking on the sofa at his room’s veranda, in the full view of whoever dared look up, the sun sinking into twilight, Seiya comes face to face with the wolf that Comte had shackled inside of him for so long.

His thrusts are frantic and rushed; there is only rhythm and speed, no patience or art. Seiya’s had her share; now, Comte is using her for his pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, his grip harsh on her hips—there will be bruises tomorrow. He presses her face against the valley in between her breasts and moans. Her name falls from his mouth, “Seiya, Seiya,” in between syllables of “Fuck” and “So good,” the brusqueness of the words so unbecoming of Comte it makes her even more sensitive to them.

She curls forward, toward him, trying to meet his thrusts even when her legs have long turned into mush. When Comte realizes what she is trying to do, a new sort of enthusiasm fills him; it’s as if he has woken up from a trance. “Seiya,” he calls out, “mouth,” is all he can say, and she obeys; he slips two fingers into her waiting mouth and she suckles on them as if it were his cock. He hisses at the feeling and pulls them out as soon as he is satisfied; replacing his fingers with his tongue as he returns to making out with her; his now-slick fingers finding a spot in between the both of them to rub her still-sensitive clit, urging her now: come, Seiya, come for me.

Seiya is obedient. It doesn’t take long.

Comte cannot say he hasn’t dreamt of claiming Seiya for his own in the past. But none of his wildest dreams would have been close to what this is like: the feeling of her pulsing and squeezing around him, because of him, he brought this pleasure for her, the sound of her voice as she gasps for air, the broken syllables of his name and sputterings of thanks and disbelief as the white-hot pleasure brands her, her fingers curled around his arms for dear life. It takes all of his self-control to not just surrender at that moment, to pull her by her waist and just fuck into her until he is spent.

And then the door to the veranda clicks open.

By this time, the sun has already long disappeared under the horizon; while the shroud of darkness has comforted her in hiding her rendezvous with the man of the house, the brightness of the inside of Comte’s room with the lights turned up sends her reeling when it illuminates Leonardo’s form. Seiya’s eyes are wide as dinnerplates as she scrambles for something to cover herself—her hair—but Leonardo looks unbothered, only throwing a knowing kind of expression at his friend, half a smile on his face.

And then Comte speaks.

“I was wondering when you would come in.”

Seiya’s neck snaps with how fast she turns to face him.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt, and it finally seemed like a good time.”

“Haha, how polite of you,” Comte says, genuine amusement in his tone. He returns his gaze back to Seiya, who is looking up at him with such a panicked expression; her legs tense around him. “It’s alright, ma bien-aimée. He will not stay unless you want him to.”

Which meant: he will stay if you want him to.

She turns, one more time, to look at Leonardo. Leonardo, the one that has been with her for every tumultuous rise and fall of her emotions toward Comte. How similar and different he was to his friend. Their gentle, golden eyes like twin fires. But then, the fall of his brown hair against the sides of his face. The kind of half-smirk he always seems to wear. The familiar tobacco smell he brought with him wherever he go; the one she’d longed for the entire time he was absent. Just looking at him, she remembers the feeling of his body underneath hers, memorized after months of cuddled-up sleep.

Seiya isn’t sure.

She doesn’t know what she feels about Leonardo yet.

But she knows one thing.

“Want you to stay,” she says, softly, hand still curled around Comte’s arm. “Please, Leonardo. Stay?”

And the man smiles like he’s won the world. “Just for you, cara mia.”

Comte slides out of her comforting warmth so he can lift her into his arms; the motion makes her sigh lowly, causing the two men to tense for the briefest of moments. Leonardo holds the door open as the two lovers make their way to the room’s large bed. When they get there she is understandably nervous; Comte takes his time kissing every tense muscle. Seiya watches Leonardo move across the room; from shutting the door to pulling one of the plush armchairs so that it faces the bed.

“Don’t mind me,” he says when he spots her staring, but how can Seiya not, when he’s pulled down his trousers just enough to reveal his cock, still at half-mast but very obviously will be as impressive as Comte’s once it’s fully hard.

Seiya’s got the first syllable of Leonardo’s name on her mouth when Comte steals it away with a kiss, light at first but then deep, his tongue prodding her lips open as she relaxes, her hands making their way around him again.

In a moment of tenderness, Comte presses a kiss on her forehead, on her nose, and then on her lips before saying: “Let’s show Leonardo how beautiful you are.”

Comte guides her slowly into position; turning her so that she’s on her hands and knees, facing Leonardo. Her cheeks turn even redder once she catches Leonardo stroking himself quietly, a smirk on his face as he watches Comte maneuver her around for his pleasure. Comte presses a kiss on the dip of her lower back before he guides his still-hard cock to her, coating himself with her essence before slipping into the warmth of her pussy.

Something about being watched by Leonardo sends her brain haywire. Comte is fucking her against the pillow, but his one hand has tangled itself into her hair, pulling her backward and up, allowing her to come eye-to-eye with Leonardo’s careful gaze. She can’t deny the heat that sinks through every inch of her skin, through every bit his eyes land at, tracing the mounds at her chest, the fucked out look she’s wearing on her face—“Leonardo,” she croons, once the pre-cum begins to build around the head of his cock.

Comte’s arm suddenly comes underneath her, pulling her up from the underside of her breasts, forcing her against him. “Remember who is in you,” he growls, before sending her back down. She hears Leonardo’s soft “tsk tsk” before she lands on her elbows; it’s about all she can do to brace herself and stay upright as Comte properly pistons into her, filling the room with the sound of flesh meeting flesh. She can’t look up at Leonardo knowing it would be her ruin, but she can hear the sound of him jerking himself off; at the same time, the sound of Comte’s moans and groans go straight to her core, making her squeeze and contract and pulling Comte deeper into senseless ecstasy.

“I love you,” Comte suddenly says, out of nowhere, causing her to buckle forward onto her cheek. His tone is filled with love and possession and hunger. “I love you, Seiya.” He slides a free hand to the space between her legs, quickly finding the sensitive bud.

“Abel, I—” she cries out as Comte begins to play with her clit and her nipple; he pushes her back up, making sure he’s got her, pressing his face at the junction of her neck and shoulder to fill him with her scent, sweet and intoxicating. “I—I love you, I’ve loved you—” she nearly falls forward with the sudden jolt of pleasure when his cock brushes somewhere electric. “I’m gonna… cum—”

“Cum,” Comte urges, angling himself so he hits that spot that made her spasm over and over again. “Show me how beautiful you are. Show Leonardo.”

And then it was over.

She leans her entire weight against Comte’s arms when the most powerful orgasm she’s had today hits her, knocking the wind out of her. Like an avalanche that only gets stronger and stronger the longer it rolls through her. Comte fucks her throughout the entirety of it, dragging it out for as long as he can until it’s too much even for him, her scent, her warmth, the wetness, her voice—he presses his fangs against her jugular only to sate him but not to break skin, as he pours his cum, white and warm, deep inside of her.

They fall over each other sticky with sweat. Comte rolls off of her, careful to give her space to breathe. When she comes to, she turns toward him and presses a kiss—chaste but filled with love—onto Comte’s lips.

“Was wondering how long it would take the both of you.”

The two new-lovers turn toward Leonardo as if they had just remembered his existence. He’s still sprawled on the armchair, although this time, with his hands out on his sides, leaving his still-hard cock free-standing in front of him. Seiya tries her best not to stare.

“You arrived just in time, actually,” Comte says, as he helps Seiya sit up.

Leonardo shakes his head. “Your patience for the oddest things never made sense to me.”

Seiya considers, for a moment, what this is. Comte who held her heart in his hands for the longest time—Comte who didn’t know how to express it until it was all that consumed him. And across them, Leonardo, sitting there having watched them press their loves onto their bodies, smiling as Comte holds her in his arms. Leonardo who has always been there for her, from every up and down of her feelings with Comte—who, she realizes, probably left knowing this would happen.

Two of the people she loves the most in this mansion. Her heart sings for them.

In what way, they don’t know yet. But for now, the fucking, the loving, the adoration sends confidence fluttering in her heart.

Turning toward Leonardo, she licks her lips.

“Need some help?”

----

written last year (!) for the lovely @beni-draw-ikemen-please for their OC and their beloved, Comte! please check them out, they make amazing art!

[chxrrysangel]

Stark Tea Time

Summary || Morgan Stark drags Bucky to one of her legendary tea parties, Sam leaving him to drown in pink fluff and glitter.

Warnings || Bucky actually smiles

You do not have permission to post my work anywhere else

“Lay up Cyborg, live a little. It’s not like I’m gonna di—”

“Look! Sam, I drew something for you!”

The two men’s attention is diverted from their conversation as little Morgan Stark comes barreling down the hallway, paper flapping in one hand and an assortment of crayons in the other. Her hair is covered in little butterfly clips, strands adorned with a wide array of colors from the chalk dye strewn across her cherry wood floors. She’s wearing a massive tutu, dressing to the 9s in a blue ballerina costume.

Sam smiles at the little girl, always excited to see what she has to offer. Ever since Tony passed, all of the Avengers men have taken on a father-like role towards the child, always making sure she feels loved and cared for. It’s the least they can do.

He bends down to her eye level, giving her his full attention. The smile on Sam’s face is in complete contrast to the grimace adorning Bucky’s features.

“What’s up sweetheart? Whatcha got?”

The little Stark giggles in excitement, overjoyed to see her two favorite Avengers come to see her again. They’re always quite busy, saving the world and everything. So each visit is quite meaningful to her. They’ll never replace Tony, but they ensure that his memory and love for Morgan is something she’ll never lack. They’d all die before that happens, and she knows that.

She takes the drawing from behind her back and lays it out for both of them to see. It resembles some sort of bird-like figure, Sam thinks to himself. Next to it is a robot-type figure, not failing to notice the frown etched into his features with a Crayola marker. Shaking with excitement, the little Stark looks at the two men expectantly.

“What is it?”

Morgan sighs loudly, annoyed by their stupidity and lack of “artistic vision”. The two men have yet to figure out where she learned such a concept.

“It’s you guys! Duh!” Their mouthes form into an ‘o’ shape in understanding.

“Well it’s stunning. It’s absolutely beautiful Morg. You know, I might have frame this one actually. When you become a famous painter, this is gonna be worth so much money!” Morgan squeals, jumping around excitedly as Sam praises her.

“I think it’s kind of ugl—” Sam cuts him off by sending a small electrical current to Bucky’s arm, causing him to hunch over in pain as he’s being electrocuted.

“What he was trying to say is that it’s very avant-garde, meaning unique in the art world. Don’t worry little Stark, it’s a good thing.” Sam smiles at her encouragingly, hoping Terminator’s harsh words back there wash over her. She nods in understanding, James’s words already long forgotten.

The two men attempt to continue their conversation from before, discussing details about their next mission. There’s a hostage situation in the Palace of Westminster, the perpetrators threatening to blow the whole thing up with everyone in it. But before they can really strategize how to scope out the place, Sam feels a tap on his leg.

“Yes princess?”

“Can you guys come to my tea party?”

“Actually Morgan, we have to go so—” Bucky starts to say before being rudely cut off my bird-man to his left. Sam shoot daggers in his partner’s direction and the words die in his throat.

“Actually, I have to go take care of something really quickly. But Bucky can join you.” At those words, Bucky’s head jolts in his direction, giving Sam one of the meanest looks he’s probably ever seen. But the big man is all bark and no bite, so Sam just laughs in his face. Bucky’s fists tighten at his sides, thinking of all the ways he plans to torture and murder Sam when they leave the Stark house.

Morgan, on the other hand, is practically bursting at the seams. Bucky doesn’t know this, but he’s her favorite of all the Avengers, especially because his titanium arm reminds her of her dad’s suit. She feels closer to him when she’s with Bucky. Plus, they’re both kinda stoic, but it’s only an act in her eyes. She knows that deep down, he has a heart of gold.

Morgan takes Bucky by the hand, dragging him down the hallway back to her room. Meanwhile, Bucky looks back at Sam, pleading for some kind of mercy or aid. Sam, of course, provides no such thing and only cackles at his best friend’s misfortune. He says goodbye to Pepper, promising to be back once he finishes talking to Torres.

Meanwhile in a certain Stark’s bedroom…

Morgan bounced from corner to corner of her large bedroom, capturing all of the items she needs for this special occasion. It’s not often she has a guest for her weekly tea parties, let along James Buchanan Barnes of all people. She has to make a good impression if he’s ever going to come back.

Standing like a dark looming giant,surrounded by tiny chairs and more pink and purple than he’s ever seen, Bucky is clearly out of his element. At 6’0 tall, he stands taller than anything in this room, standing neck and neck with the canopy bed in the middle. Morgan doesn’t take notice of his discomfort however, she’s just happy to have him. She whips around him, gathering her stuffed animals at the table and setting up the placemats for each guest.

Almost as if having an epiphany, the mini Stark girl gasps and runs out the bedroom, yelling that she’ll be right back. Bucky wanders around the room, taking notice of all the little trinkets and toys that he, along with the rest of the team, gifted to her over time. His lips contort into a ghost of a smile, reminiscing all the times Morgan screamed for joy every time they came bearing gifts. The gifts didn’t really matter to her, though. It was just their presence that set her heart into cardiac arrest and her cheeks aflame. They were her family.

Not soon after, Morgan returns dragging a more normal sized chair into her room. Bucky is surprised at this action, as the small girl is barely breaking a sweat. That is, until he noticed the two small gadgets attached the back of the chair, marked with Tony’s insignia. So little Stark is smart, just like her dad.

Morgan sets the chair down next to her own pink, fluffy and bedazzled throne at the head of the table. She sits down, motioning Bucky to take a seat and calls the tea party into session. Bucky’s eyes wander over the pristinely white tabletop, taking in the wide assortment of snacks. From shortbread, frosted oatmeal cookies, to cheeseburgers and mini sandwiches, you name it and she’s got it. The baked goods are Pepper’s doing of course, courtesy of her daily afternoon attempts to become the next Martha Stewart. Morgan doesn’t mind at all, eager to indulge in a daily sugar high as the designated guinea pig.

“Tea?,” the child offers, “it’s raspberry, your favorite.” James can’t help but blush as her consideration of his tastes. For a kid, she’s a pretty decent host. He quickly covers up his blush by coughing and nods firmly.

After filling up the China tea cups lined up around the table, Morgan moves towards introductions. “Bucky, these are my friends. There’s Mr.Whiskers, Genevieve, Fae, Natasha, Tony, and James. They’re very happy to have you here with us. They think you look quite nice today.”

James? As in… Bucky can’t help but blush again, honored that Morgan named one of her beloved stuffed animals after him. He smiles shyly, staring at the lavender Elephant across the table. The girl doesn’t fail to notice his smile, happy that he’s happy.

“So James, how do you feel about glitter?”

~~~

The doorbell rings sometime around 7:00, just after sunset. Pepper opens the door to a smiling Sam, carrying a mysterious box by his side. He just left Torres house, the two men agreeing to scope out the place just before dawn when everyone is still sleeping. That way, they can get a good picture of what it looks like on the inside without having to use night vision technology.

“What’s in the box?”

“Lemon Merengue. For Morgan.” Lemon Merengue is Morgan’s favorite dessert. So by bringing her some, Sam hopes that she’ll forgive him for taking a rain check on one of her illustrious tea parties.

“They’re still down the hall.” Pepper points in the direction of mini Stark’s room, before returning to her baking. Tonight, she’s trying devil’s food cake.

Even from down the hall, Sam can hear the chatting of two distinct voices, a deep scratchy one and a much higher, daintier tone. He shakes his head at Morgan’s complete lack of an inside voice when she’s excited. They must be having a blast in there.

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky actually seems to be enjoying himself. He stands in the doorframe, watching the two chat back and forth while a Disney movie soundtrack plays in the background. From the distinct piano, Sam recognizes Beauty & the Beast (also one of Morgan’s favorites).

Sitting down obediently, Bucky gives Morgan his full attention as she places puffy stickers on his titanium arm and adds little doodles to his real one. He smiles as he watches her drawing a picture of the two of them with princess tiaras and feather boas, just like they are now. She babbles away, telling him the details of the movie she wants them to watch together. It’s called Tangled, he learns.

Sam decides to leave the two alone, going back to help Pepper bake in the kitchen. Although, not before snapping a picture of the two together, reminding himself to print it and put it on the fridge. He knows that Pepper isn’t exactly the kindest person to be in the kitchen with, as she is very bossy and demanding. But he’d take that over ruining this special moment in the princess-themed room down the hall.

He can still hear the faint giggles and screams of Morgan, this time begging Bucky to stop tickling her. She pleads for mercy but he refuses to budge, only making her laugh harder and her giggles to bounce off the walls like they’re in an echo chamber. And to think, he was gonna say no earlier.

[heynikkiyousofine]

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3
The saga continues for my dear friend @enchantedink-ag, enjoy lovelies!
Part 2
Bounding from tree to tree in the scattered daylight as it filtered through the canopy, Inuyasha barely had time to catch his breath before taking off once more towards Meiji Shrine, a sacred temple located in a meadow with not much else around it. Miroku explained this temple was sacred, much like Mount Hakurei was. The temple had been built over the grave of the deceased demon, Koyanagi. It was where the twins had taken her, Miroku was sure of it. With it being a sacred place, it was the perfect location to harness spiritual power to bring him back from the dead.
He had been running all day, only stopping to take a quick drink in a stream he passed by earlier. Sweat covered his brow and Inuyasha knew he would have to move even quicker before sundown to make it there, that the full moon would be at its highest just hours after the sun sets over the horizon. Feeling his youki pulse, he pushed forward, leaping from a tree branch as his strength rose and his inner demon roared in anger. Kagome, I’m coming.
——————————————————————————————-
Kagome focused on the dirt on her bare feet, while Kimoto wrapped the sisal rope around the worn wooden pole that protruded from the ground. She needed to keep her strength up, even though she was bone tired and her whole body ached. The blood and dirt caked on her head had dried hours ago, while she sported a nice looking welt on her tear stains cheek where Kimoto had thrown her in the rough dirt. Whimpering, she felt a slight shiver and a wave of nausea roll over her as he continued tying, his hands brushing her backside. Inuyasha. I’m scared. Where are you?
As he finished securing her, Kirigaya spread out her scroll on a near by large stone few feet away, then pulled a dagger from her inner cloak. The smooth steel glistened in the bright moonlight, catching Kagome’s attention from her post. The soft breeze swished across the grass and Kagome knew she would have loved the lay here in the meadow and stargaze with her husband had they come across it in different circumstances. Swallowing quickly, she kept quiet and continued to observe the twin demons. Wiggling her fingers, she pulled against the worn rope, noticing that the rope wasn’t as tight as she had initially thought and felt a familiar aura approach the far tree line. Not wanting to give anything away, Kagome shifted and continued to stare ahead into the dark forest.
——————————————————————————————-
Inuyasha stood in a tall oak tree, glaring at the scene before him. He growled quietly to himself when he noticed Kagome was currently tied to a post in a dirt patch in the middle of a field. Farther back sat a small red painted building he assumed was the shrine. I’m going to kill those fuckers for kidnapping Kagome. He continued watching the duo move around Kagome, setting up the ritual. Glancing at the clear sky, he noticed the moon was almost at its highest point, shining brightly on the scene before him. It was time as he felt an evil aura spread over the forest.
He patted his kosode, feeling the rough outline of the pouch Kaede gave him, the stack of sutras from Miroku, wiggling his ears once, before grabbing Kagome’s bow and arrow and jumping quietly from his spot. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, he just knew he needed to stop the ritual from happening. He needed to save his wife and unborn child.
He simply strode forward silently, keeping one claw gripped tightly on his fang, the other still holding Kagome’s weapons, his eyes darting swiftly around. The two demons didn’t seem to notice him, or to care to even look up at him, which was he thought was odd. He was sure they would have felt his aura by now, unless they were ignoring him. Feeling a bit unnerved, he was suddenly throw back by some invisible force, yelping as he landed on his back. Fucking hell that hurt. Three heads shot up at the sound, the demons staring and smirking at his pain while Kagome’s eyes filled with worry.
——————————————————————————————-
“Ah, the half-breed showed up brother, I had wondered if he would find us. It seems he isn’t as dense as I assumed.” Kirigaya snickered as Inuyasha groaned and slowly stood, staying rooted in his spot. “If you couldn’t tell, we set up a barrier around the ritual site so no one can bother us.”
“That’s right sister, we don’t need anyone interrupting us.” Kimoto added, stepping away from Kagome. Inuyasha! Kagome struggled against the ropes once more, feeling them give away more this time. A plan was beginning to form in her thoughts. Her stomach lurched as she heard Inuyasha’s yelp once more, staring ahead as he was thrown back to the ground again. Her bow and arrows lay on the ground beside him and her determination grew. Once she was free of these ropes….
Kirigaya turned towards her scroll once more before lifting her head to look at the moon’s position and smiling broadly.
“It’s time. Brother, come here.” She reached for his hand, intertwining their slender fingers. “In just a short time, our brother will be returned to us and we will once again be all powerful.”
“You bastards! Let Kagome go!” Inuyasha yelled from outside the invisible barrier, staring at his wife with fear filled golden eyes. Kagome could tell by his wide stance, clenched fists and angry glare that he was becoming desperate. His demon wouldn’t stay away much longer. Hang in there for me Koi, I’ve got a plan. 
Kimoto turned towards her, pure joy in his gray eyes, and lifted his hands. The grass suddenly still and the air around her coming to a halt. If she stopped struggling, she was sure she could hear her own heartbeat with how silent the area was. Glancing at the love of her life, she saw him draw Tetsusaiga and the blade turn a crimson red. He’s going to break the barrier. I need to get out of these ropes and fast.
Kirigaya swiftly turned her head and glared at the half-demon with his sword raised high. She smiled and took a deep breath. Kagome knew what was coming. Kagome didn’t know it was her that was screaming, until Kimoto shoved a small piece of cloth in her mouth, as more tears fell down her cheeks. The pain wouldn’t stop, piercing her skull and making her incredibly nauseous. Focused on not passing out from the pain, she barely felt the blade slice her collarbone. After what felt like an eternity, the sound stopped and Kagome locked eyes with Inuyasha as he blasted through the barrier, shattering it into a million pieces before it disappeared into the air.
“You filthy half-breed.” Kirigaya was seething, gripping the scroll in her hands so tight, her knuckles turning white. Inuyasha stood at the edge of the dirt circle, a smirk spreading across his face. Whipping her head back, she urged Kimoto to continue. Kagome realized his hands had been roaming her body, touching her in places only Inuyasha had ever. Her stomach lurching, she pulled against the ropes once more, her right hand coming free. As Kimoto drew blood from her cheek with the small dagger, she quickly untied the rest of the rope, freeing her left. Pulling the dirtied cloth from her mouth, she shoved at Kimoto. I have to get to my weapon. Inuaysha!
“Inuyasha!” She screamed, her heart bursting at the seams as she watched him race forward.
——————————————————————————————-
Furious didn’t even begin to describe Inuyasha’s feelings. His blood boiled beneath his skin as he swung, breaking the barrier with his red Tetsusaiga. When Kagome’s blood curdling scream filled the air, his heart shattered and his demon roared. He was clawing to get out, determined to kill the very beings who harmed his beloved. He knew purple streaks had appeared along his cheekbones and his fangs were long enough to pierce his bottom lip. When the barrier disappeared, the ringing stopped. Smirking at the female, he was thankful he had decided to wear the ear plugs before arriving. Thank you Sango.
The scent of iron and blood filled this nose and if he could be any angrier, he would be. That fucker was hurting Kagome. He couldn’t use the Wind Scar in his position, he would hurt her too. Deciding his lengthened claws were a good enough weapon, he leaped at Kirigaya just as she stepped forward, drawing her own sword hidden beneath her cloak. Eyes wide, Inuyasha collided with sharp metal, his hands gripping the sword’s length.
taglist: @kalcia @smh1821 @stillunderyourbed @mandirox89 @littlepumkinseed @knittingknots @mamabearcat @bitch8901 @rikareena @swaggingtomboy @nonbinarypeeta @writemydaydreams @ruddcatha @mlb-stuffs @adorabubblesblog @sailorlolo @chaoticisapphic @zelink-inukag @meadashaw @inukagger @zanda-rl @born-for-eachother @wheremydreamsliethereyoullfindme @anisaanisa @mylindylady @aceverett15

[portiaadams]

Meyer and Charlie Smut

I wrote Lanskiano smut. It’s embedded in my Richard Harrow/Clara Thompson story. For those who don’t care about Richard and my OC, here is Charlie and Meyer having a moment

December 31st, 1921

The sound of the engine and the clacking of the train against the rails filled the room, but could not overcome the roaring silence between the room's inhabitants. Charlie adjusted his legs once more, trying to find some way to fit them on the single bed. God damn it, this was a bed for a child not a grown fucking man. The Darmody kid was probably too big for it.  Charlie wasn't sure how long he'd been awake-this time-but it was one of many things really pissing him off.

From the larger bed there was a quick flash of light and then the scent of sulfur and tobacco. "I offered to take that bed," Meyer said after a slow exhale.

"Them shoulders of yours wouldn't have even fit," Charlie groused.

Determining Charlie's mood came as naturally to him as determining the weather before he stepped off his stoop. Certainly, Charlie's moods could be as mercurial as the weather. And at the moment, Charlie's mood registered as stormy.

"Charlie," Meyer began.

"Can it, Meyer," Charlie answered and swung his legs off the bed, stumbling in the dark for his own cigarettes and lighter.

"You are being irrational," Meyer responded.

"That brutto figlio di puttana bastardo was up your ass all night. You enjoyed though, didn't ya?"

Meyer sighed. Charlie acted like he was the only one who wanted. Meyer's first memory was wanting. Wanting enough to eat, wanting a warmer fire, wanting. Those years when his father was gone and he did all a kid could do to keep his mother and siblings fed and warm.

But wanting. Wanting in America was sharper, brighter, different. There was so much more to want. From the moment he stepped off the ship he moved as fast as his little legs would carry him. He moved to learn English, to get out of the classroom full of tiny children and catch up with his peers, he moved to learn the streets and determine how to make money any way he could. He moved as fast as he could because he knew the goal was to leave the Lower East Side behind him. To move fast enough that one day he could even outrun wanting.

But nothing, not a lifetime of yearning for acceptance and security, held a candle to his ever-present need for Charlie. There was no part of him that did not want every part of Charlie. And as much as his wants dictated every carefully crafted move of his life, there was nothing he wanted more than Charlie. In his life, in his office, in his bed. Even if it made no sense. Even if it had no place in his plan.

"He was circling round you like a bitch in heat," Charlie continued.

"The way Gillian Darmody circled around you? The way the chorus girls do?" Meyer snapped back. He spent years, he spent agonizing nights, watching Charlie charm women whose desire for him was as clear as the powder on their faces.

"That's different, and you know it well as me."

"How?"

"They're broads, Meyer! It don't matter like..." Charlie stopped talking, not knowing how to put into words what mattered. They was just broads. They wasn't in his mind like Meyer was. Even Meyer wasn't with him he could still hear the little addin' machine in his head, telling him to be smart. Telling him to think.

Being with those women was like grabbing a dog from a cart and eating it on the street. Scratched the itch of need. Satisfying enough at the moment.

Being with Meyer was different and Meyer damn well knew it. They was friends and they was more and when more changed to be even more...It ain't like people understood their friendship anyway. The Jew and the Italian.  They was supposed to be mortal enemies, not friends for life. Not...whatever they was.

"I gotta keep up appearances," Charlie said because that was also a true thing. He hadn't told Meyer that Clara knew. No need to introduce complications. They was careful. They was always careful. "That's why I can't believe you let the guy get near you like that."

Meyer shook his head. "Charlie, he's married. To Lady Rose. I think he's just an adventurer."

"Yeah. I know what adventure he's after," Charlie responded.

"A man like that..."

"What? You think you ain't good enough for a fonferer like that cercatore d'oro? What, you just good enough for the likes of me, that it?"

The petulance in Charlie's voice was so familiar. "Charlie, come here."

"Mey, I ain't in the mood."

Meyer doubted that. Charlie was rarely not in the mood. "Charlie," he said again.

Charlie heard the gruff tone in Meyer's voice. He was angry, he was still angry, but that tone in Meyer's voice always did the same thing to him. Instinct drove him to Meyer's side.

Didn't mean he wasn't still angry, though. He sat next to Meyer silently. One man wearing an undershirt that buttons with sleeves that come down to his elbows, although the width of his shoulders and upper arms often mean the seams ripped and tore and stretched due to the strain placed upon them. The other man wore the new kind of undershirt-knit, sleeveless, no buttons.

Charlie told Meyer all the time he should switch. Be more modern. But Meyer couldn't quite break away from tradition in some matters.

"There will always be others, won't there, Charlie?" Meyer asks, and even though he knew the answer for a moment he willed Charlie to lie to him. "After all, we'll have to marry one day, won't we?"

"I ain't. Look at Harrow and Clara."

Meyer turned to stare at Charlie. Personally, he thought Harrow had chained himself to a klafte in pearls. But the man seemed to love her. And Clara seemed as happy as he thought her capable of being.

"Harrow seems content enough."

"That ain't the thing, Mey. They love each other. But we all know how this ends. Clara sobbing over a morgue slab with Darmody's brat and a baby or two besides clinging to her. I ain't gonna do that to a woman."

Such a delicate jaw in such a strong face, Meyer thought idly before bringing Charlie's face to his. Charlie didn't fight it, and soon their mouths were finishing the disagreement. Charlie fell first-Charlie always fell first-letting his mouth open and Meyer plunder its depths.

Charlie's mouth tasted of hot honey and something deeper, sweeter, more savory. It was the taste and sensation he spent a lifetime chasing down in penny candy bins and bakeries and sweet shops. Much like with the candy he had kept in his pockets from the first time he had spare pennies, he knew he'd never have enough of it.

It was the sweetness he'd always craved.

The hard, taut muscles of Charlie Luciano's body, the ones that struck fear around the underworld (and occasionally in the upper echelons) of New York went soft and loose as something else grew hard. Without realizing it, Meyer turned Charlie so he was on his knees, his head laying on the soft Irish linen pillowcase embroidered with the ever-present P.

Meyer's left hand drifted over the hard muscles of Charlie's stomach down to the mother of pearl buttons on Charlie's beloved silk boxers. His fingers drifted over the buttons but didn't try to undo them. Instead, he reached down to the impossibly soft skin of Charlie's inner thigh and began drawing lazy circles. His right hand combed through Charlie's thick dark curls before yanking sharply so Charlie had to turn his face to Meyer to save his hair, their faces so close they were breathing in each other's breaths.

"Tell me, Charlie. Tell me why I'm different from Gillian and those broads."

Charlie's breath was hot and fast. "God damn it, Mey. Just touch me."

"Tell me the things I do to you I'll never do to Dennis Malley," Meyer said, his hand cupping over Charlie's bulge momentarily before going back to stroking his inner thigh.

"You do lots of stuff I'd fucking kill anybody else for," Charlie said, knowing they were journeying into uncharted territory. "You knot up my god damn hands with your tie."

Meyer leaned over so his face was against the smooth back of Charlie's neck, wanting to inhale Charlie's scent, wanting to inhale Charlie. "Yes, true. What else," he asked while his hand slid under the paisley silk to caress the very tip of Charlie's cock.

Charlie tried to push his hips into Meyer's fingers but Meyer removed his hand from Charlie's hair and grabbed him around the hips. "Don't even try it," Meyer whispered harshly.

"You put your prick in my mouth and push it in until I choke. You like it when I choke."

True, Meyer thought, because who wouldn't want Charlie on his knees? Who wouldn't want to see those pretty lips wrapped around their cock? He rewarded Charlie with a quick tug that made both of them momentarily forget to breathe.

"You make me grab my own prick and you watch. Sometimes you put your fingers in...god damn it, Meyer, you know where you put your fingers."

For a moment Meyer's hands brushed back against the buttons. What did it matter, he decided, Charlie bought his silk underwear by the gross. He yanked on them so hard that the mother of pearl buttons scattered across the thick antique rug. Filled with a need to feel the silky soft flesh of Charlie's back under the thick fur of his chest he first pushed up Charlie's undershirt until it was wrapped around Charlie's shoulders before Meyer sat back on his own knees to more carefully remove his own underthings. After all, he'd spent good money on them. No need for carelessness.

"For our mutual benefit you should continue," Meyer growled, fighting the urge to have Charlie right now.

Charlie licked his lips. Meyer was leaning over him to grab something from the bag on the floor, causing Meyer's dick to press against his lower back. It gave him some satisfaction to realize Meyer was as hard as he was. He writhed under Meyer and was rewarded by Meyer groaning above him. He heard the sound of glass and the knowledge of what was in Meyer's hand made precum start leaking out of the tip of his dick.

"You put on oil on your fingers and then you put oil on me and sometimes you put oil on my hand so I can rub it on your dick," Charlie finally managed to say.

Meyer's hand was covered with oil as it started massaging the top of Charlie's ass. Charlie groaned as Meyer's fingers slipped into his crack.

The light coming in the edges of the curtains was changing but Meyer was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think about what that meant. He was intoxicated by the scent, sight, and feel of Charlie. "What else?"

The linen of the pillowcase was now being crushed between Charlie's fingers. The fuck if he was going to ruin this moment like a damn kid. "You put me on my side," Charlie continued after taking a deep breath and Meyer moved him so quickly he fell onto his side with a thump.

After positioning Charlie's legs to his liking Meyer continued to let his hand move down.

"You push your fingers inside me," Charlie managed to gasp out as he felt one of Meyer's fingers breach him. "Mey, your fingers are so fucking thick."

Meyer lowered his mouth onto the top of Charlie's shoulders, his own breath coming at an incredibly thick pace, overtaken by the need to taste Charlie's flesh salty and warm under his tongue. Neither man noticed the bedside clock striking six.

Nor did they notice the train was no longer rocking beneath them.

With great care Meyer worked in a second finger and started scissoring, looking for the spot that always made Charlie howl.

Charlie howled. Meyer pressed harder.

"God damn it, Meyer, god damn it..." Charlie pleaded.

"Say it," Meyer begged, his breath hot against Charlie's ear, the game having rebounded until his need was as raw and urgent as Charlie's own.

"I want you, Mey, please," Charlie finally sobbed out. "You fuck me, you fuck me, holy mother of god please just fuck me."

"Charlie, god," Meyer breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

The words falling from Charlie's mouth dissolved into nonsense. For a moment their faces were pressed together, letting Meyer feel the pulse in Charlie's temple in the bones of his own face.

Once more Meyer pressed his fingertips against Charlie's jaw and their mouths opened to each other. There was no more dominance or one-upmanship. Instead, there was the slow slide of their mouths melding together until Meyer can no longer determine where he ends and Charlie begins.

One hand gripped Charlie's hip, holding him in place. Meyer could feel the tenseness in Charlie when he first breached him and the pain hit, but after a moment he could feel Charlie's muscles relaxing under his hand.

"I gotta move, tesoro," Meyer finally breathed out.

One of Charlie's hands braced against the soft mossy velvet of the headboard while his other reached back for any part of Meyer he could touch. It didn't matter that Meyer was ever so slowly moving ever deeper inside him. He needed more. He wanted everything.

"Move, libster. Damn it, move," Charlie answered, his hand finally finding Meyer's ass to pull him closer, to pull him further in.

Time lost meaning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days fell away. There was just this. Meyer's hand finally came around to touch Charlie in the way Charlie had wanted since the game began, since time began.

Finally, they fell into the soaked sheets, the ruins of Charlie's underthings trapped beneath them, their legs and hands twisted together, both of them breathless and boneless. Their faces were still pressed together and as Meyer relaxed back into sleep he realized their faces were wet.

He wasn't sure who had cried.

[morning-glory215]

just like moths

Tommy doesn’t wear his old jacket much anymore. Even though it brought a sense of warmth, of unity, he didn’t wear it much. When they had a formal inauguration of Tubbo, a few days after the bombing, he wore it. The old thing is falling apart at the seams, just barely presentable. And yet the memories it holds are what make it so hard to throw away. Of the times when the sun was golden and there were walls to protect.

(not those walls, half-finished with a threat)

And it was also the fact that he didn’t have another jacket to hold all of his medals.

Ones shaped like the discs he still had; ones with the spread wings of a Phoenix, to represent when L’Manburg had first been bombed and they had risen above it; a flag of L’Manburg; a sword and bow to represent his tenacity; a star, to represent when they had first taken back L’Manburg from Schlatt.

When he had to wear the jacket, he felt like he was holding the hopes of a past him. Of the people he had fought for (who stare at him now, as he walks along with his little posse to face another humiliation) and the ideals he often died for.

When death was cheap, you had to make some meaning out of it.

He tries desperately not to focus on his present reality. That Tubbo was giving into Dream to placate him. So that the walls would go away. So that Dream would go away.

None of this would go away by bowing.

(and hadn’t they said they wouldn’t bow to Tommy?)

(then again, Dream wasn’t the Vice President)

Yet, here they were. Tommy stands at the forefront of their new podium, as Tubbo makes some speech to the stragglers. Dream stands so casually, leaning against a stall. This was his punishment, and Dream’s amusement.

Tommy wanted to slap that mask away and dig his fingers into -

Fundy grins next to him, his pawed hand already taking away the first of his many medals. He takes away his tenacity, then the one representing a renewed L’Manburg - the Phoenix. Quackity takes away his flag. 

Then, finally, Tubbo steps forward. Tommy can see the biting bitterness in his eyes (or is he projecting?), the set of his jaw as he leans forward. First, he takes away the discs (that beloved, physical memory of their friendship) and deposits it in his pocket.

Lastly, the star. All of this was meant to strip Tommy of any pride and connection to his country.

In all matters but physical, he had no more connections.

No more honors. No more pride.

And as Tubbo tucks his star away, Tommy feels the light of their friendship dim. Tommy can remember drawing up the designs for all of those medals with Tubbo. Tubbo, who had smiled at him as he gave him back his medals as his president.

It was pretty fitting that his president would take them away, huh?

The end of the whole ceremony was like a balloon deflating. Tubbo left first, always in a hurry. Quackity left second, always something for him to do.

Fundy, however, lingers for a second.

And Tommy knows all the things left unsaid between them. They were both hurt by Wilbur (but the difference is, Tommy wishes still that Wilbur was around so that Tommy could try to fix him and Fundy wishes he was still around so that Wilbur could fix their relationship) and their moments together are always hard.

But Tommy knows, in this moment, that Fundy wants to gloat. He is already by the way he looks at him.

Fundy leaves third, with Tommy’s strength and hope in his pocket.

It’s Tommy who leaves last from L’Manburg, back to his actual home. The night air is heavy, the crickets singing and the moths floating around the lamps he had put up. His head is heavy, too - thoughts like moths that bat against the inside of his skull. Though there’s no formal declaration, Tommy knows.

He isn’t welcome back. Without his medals, which even the most basic citizen has, he has no honor. No face to show.

So he packs a bag, tears threatening to fall. 

And yet, he has nowhere to go. His last living brother that isn’t Tubbo is the worst choice. And he doesn’t know if he can trust Philza (how sad that was, he couldn’t even trust his own father). The places he can turn to are slim to none. 

He sits on the edge of the path outside of his home, feeling the rough edges of the wood dig into his pants and skin. He sits, and watches the moths dance without a care. Why can’t he be like them? They don’t need a home, nor friends who will eventually turn on him to placate a beast that will never stop being hungry.

Tommy notices the sound of footsteps, heavy from armor, approaching him. He doesn’t care much who it is (more to come and point and laugh at the fallen boy hero?), because he’ll be gone soon.

Yet, surprise is an understatement at who sits next to him - glittering gold armor, green and fluffy fur and a calming aura around him - so Tommy turns to look.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks, unable to keep the sulk from his voice. 

Even though Sam has always been kind. Always been somebody Tommy could trust wouldn’t make fun of him, or somebody who would indulge his chaotic behaviors. He was unerring, where Phil was inconsistent. He was level-headed, where Wilbur was so easy to take nosedives. He was willing to listen and change, whereas Techno wanted one thing above all.

Even though all of those were facts, something in Tommy flinches away from the kindly hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m just here as a friend.” Sam says softly, and Tommy can’t help but lean into him. “What happened?”

Tommy feels an anger inside of him boil up and he can’t stop the bitter words.

“Tubbo is listening to Dream! Not me! We fought a war together against him!” Tommy feels the tears finally slipping away. “What the fuck is that about?!”

Sam hums and hugs Tommy closer. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t insert his own opinions and lets Tommy rant. Sometimes, when it’s clear Tommy wants him to say something, he does. It’s almost refreshing to have someone listen to him, when it always feels like he’s walking on eggshells with others.

“And - and, now I have nowhere else to go.” Tommy grips at his packed bag, then at his home. 

He’s so fucking hopeless

But Sam somehow sees something in him.

“I have room.” He says it so simply, and Tommy blinks. “We can work on a room for you, and you know how secluded I am.”

Somewhere secluded. 

Somebody who holds no scorn for his mere name.

Tommy almost wants to say no. He doesn’t want to leave behind the lamps with their moths, the land he had fought for, the people he still loves - even when they can’t spare him the same luxury. Why did he fight so hard, when punishment for things others did was his fate?

Why not be a little selfish?

“Yeah.” Tommy wipes his face furiously against his arms (scarred with his warring and loving too much) and nods. “Yeah. I’ll come with you.”

Sam smiles and Tommy feels like, just for a second, he can put his worries to the side.

And as they both stand, Tommy realizes something.

The jacket.

“Hey, before we go, can I go and put my jacket away?”

And of course Sam nods. Tommy feels a sense of relief as he walks past the moths that hit the lamps. As he puts the jacket on his old bed, he folds it neatly and stares at it. It had been a piece of who he was. A foolish, but loving, boy - who fought and roared and loved with his very being.

People over places, he had told himself.

Tommy leaves without a second glance, follows Sam like a moth to a lamp.

Perhaps, Tommy thinks, he’s been around too many lamps - that will, eventually, burn his wings away and leave him a husk. But he has faith that does not seem misplaced anymore, with Sam. He will find warmth and sanctuary with him.

Tommy doesn’t need his old jacket anymore to make him feel any kind of warmth of a fire long gone.

[lady-o-ren]

THE HUNGER OF MY HEART

//PROLOGUE// //PART ONE// PART TWO

PART THREE

For easier reading here’s the link for ao3 (X)

Jamie stepped into the Lallybroch stables and whistled melodically through his teeth. A wide-browed grey horse poked his head out from the corner stall, hitching his ears forward as he blew excitedly through his nostrils.

"Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Said Jamie fondly, firmly patting the long dappled neck of the horse and scratching behind his ears. "Di' ye miss me, my wee laddie?"

Nothing was wee about Cobhar. He was a good-tempered, but spirited 14-hand gelding that had been the first foal that Jamie's father let him care for when he was a lad, still mourning his mother and needing distraction.

Cobhar's big head came down and mouthed affectionately at Jamie's curls then cheeks in greeting, as he always had done, then descended down to his knuckles, eager for the sweet treat he could smell hiding in his palm. 

"Och, ye miss being spoilt is all then? Didn'a think of me once while I was gone, di' ye?" 

Cobhar huffed impatiently and nudged his head against Jamie's chest, nibbling at the buttons, while swishing his dirt-blonde tail side to side.

"A'right, laddie," Jamie chuckled, patting him again. "Here ye go. No need to knock me over." The stallion's soft velvet lips plucked the whole apple from out his opened palm and devoured it in one loud and juicy crunch.

"Fattening auld Cobhar a'ready, Jamie?"

Jamie grinned ear to ear as he looked aside to see his best friend, and now brother-in-law, Ian, amble up beside him. He was tall and whipcord lean and strong, with an honest, good-natured face about him that had captured his sister, Jenny's heart when they were naught but bairns.

"Ye're one to talk, Ian. My sister didn'a get big as a house on her own, di' she?" 

Face a rich blush, Ian laughed and bashfully scratched his nose, crooked from when Jamie broke it years before, having found him and Jenny in the most compromising of ways.

"Still a wee shite, Fraser. And still redder than a roosters arse," said Ian, as he playfully smacked the back of Jamie's head.

As had everyone else in the family since he arrived back home. His uncle's, aunties and brutally by his beloved godfather, Murtagh, for being away from Lallybroch for so long. But the real blackening had come from Jenny, a feat for a pregnant woman who had once been no bigger than his thumb. Thank Christ, he had a skull made of solid stone (though as predicted she had embraced soon after and kissed him more than what was decent for a sister to).

Rubbing the multitude of throbbing black and blue bumps on his head (but after having given Ian a hard punch to his shoulder), Jamie spotted what looked to be an envelope under his brother-in-law's arm.

"Plan on feeling the bills to the white sow, Ian?"

Ian looked at him quizzically before making an "O" with his mouth and pulled the envelope out.

"It came yesterday, before you di'," said Ian, handing it over to Jamie, who curiously flipped it over.

It was a letter actually. He grinned, almost laughing, as it was addressed to James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser and had been tied thoughtfully with twine and a sprig of greenery embedded (accidentally?) in its bow that he brushed a blunt forefinger to.

It was from Claire.

Jamie glanced up to see Ian smirking at him and felt his ears blush hot.

"Ye're damn lucky I saw that before yer sister di'. She'd be holding it up to the light and steaming the seams open."

"She'd do no such thing," Jamie retorted, with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Yer wife would tear it open wi' her teeth and wave it in my face."

"That she would," Ian agreed with a chest shaking chuckle. "But our lass is a bloodhound and will find out sooner than not about the puir lass that ye've set yer heart upon."

The last was said almost in question. A hope that maybe Jamie had found a way to balm his wearied heart, knowing that his travels were not just a simple bout of wanderlust and the outlandish reason why. He had the look of a man now awakened, as if he'd been reborn. Something Ian himself had experienced the day Janet Fraser gave him his first kiss at the tender age of six and had never recovered from.

Nor had his nose.

Jamie met Ian's hazel eyed gaze.

"Her name's Claire," he beamed, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice that rivaled the reverence of a prayer to the creator above. "I met her in London a week ago. Spent every second I could wi' her."

And leaving the woman of his dreams had been like having his heart cleaved in two.

"Then you'll have to write to me," Claire had said, beneath her gates woven green with ivy, having clasped her fingers to his, while her other hand held his arm as if to draw him back to her marvelous world.

"Letters, ye mean?" He gulped, having felt himself sway to her power.

She nodded. "I prefer it. I can't stand the ringing and pinging of a telephone. Will you, Jamie?" Her voice had sounded unsure as if it were indeed possible he could ever refuse her. 

"Who do I address it to?" He had smiled, while grazing a tentative thumb to the back of her palm.  "The funny house no one can see at the end of nowhere street?"

"You're a smart one." She pulled her hand away to tap his nose but had let her caress linger innocently, cluelessly, down his ginger stubbled cheek as he shivered with desire, wanting to kiss the base of her thumb, count her freckles with his mouth. "Address it to this empty lot and your letter will find me. Just don't be forever." 

Jamie had pressed his hand over hers, not knowing if he could ever let her go, feeling his breath stitch tight.

"Then until I see ye again, Sassenach."

She glowed at the name he'd given her the day they'd met. Had told him before it suited her better than even her given one.

Jamie hadn't agreed with that at all and wanted to tell her what Claire was in the Ghàidhlig.

One day he would.

Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart.

Tha gaol agam ort

But apparently a day had been far too long for her.

"I think she's the one," Jamie continued on, in almost startling disbelief as he grinned like the lovesick fool he was. "The one that's been calling for me all these years." 

"Christ, man! She's real?!" Ian gripped his shoulder, matching his excitement. "Should we be expecting yer Claire for hogmanay with a wee one of yer own?"

Before Jamie could stutter a heart racing answer to that query, the two were interrupted by Jenny hollering for them. 

“D’ye two want yer dinner, or shall I feed it to the dogs!?” 

Said dogs, Luke and Elphin, Mars and auld Bran, howled in answer while Jamie groaned at his sister's impeccable timing.

Ian slapped his back though and gave his dearest friend and bràthair an encouraging smile and waggle of his dark brows. "Read the damn letter, man. I'll take care of yer sister. Just remember when yer wean's born to name him after me, aye?" 

After watching Ian depart with a wink, Jamie threw a long leg over Cobhar's stall door (shushing the nosey beast with a promise of sugar cubes) and settled himself low in the hay. 

After pocketing the bit of green to his breast pocket with a delicate hand, he carefully untied the twine and opened Claire's letter. The sweet fragrance of elderflowers and chamomile kissed the page where a simple request was written that had Jamie hopping over the stall door and running towards Lallybroch, with his pack of dogs yapping at his heels.

My Dear Jamie,

At the end of the week I'll be in Edinburgh.

Join me?

//

"Are ye ever going to tell me what's in this thing, Sassenach?"

Up and down the winding streets of Edinburgh, past the many sloping buildings and cafes and bitty book shops stacked beside one another, Jamie had been carrying a heavy and ornate wooden chest for Claire as she walked ahead of him, looking for the shop to deliver it to.  

She glanced over her shoulder at him and her young apprentice, Elias, beside him, who'd taken quite a shine to the older Scotsman. He too had been tasked with carrying a package. It was strapped to his back, a long leather cylinder that could've held anything from mundane documents to a treasure map. Jamie wasn't sure at all.

"It's not for me to say. Besides it would only worry your dreams." 

"That doesna make me feel any better," Jamie murmured, staring warily at what he held in his arms which amused Claire greatly enough to bite her posey lush lips from laughing.

"Then pretend it's a cake box."

Elias snorted, catching Jamie's attention.

"Ye ken what's in this thing don't ye, mo charaid?" 

"Aye - I mean yes. But -" Elias flicked his round eyes to his mistress's straight back then cupped his hand to his round cheek. "I'll tell you later. It's downright awful and I nearly lost my -" 

"You know I can hear you both? I'm not that old."

"And how old is that?" Jamie asked half teasing, half with genuine curiosity, while Elias pinked, snorting loudly once more.

Claire stopped in her tracks and spun on her heels, cutting a look at the younger lad who quickly cowered behind the much taller man.

"I'm old enough to remember Queen Victoria but not the Bonnie Prince. Is that enough for you?" She replied flatly, crossing her arms.

Jamie went a bit bug-eyed, mentally counting the decades since the little Queen's reign. Then his wide mouth twitched.

"And ye say ye're no' a witch?" 

Claire rolled her eyes and continued walking but a smile had peeked on her lips that encouraged Jamie to tease her more.

"Ye ken," he began, walking beside her now and shifting the weight of the chest as he did so. "There are auld highland tales that say curls wild as yers are the mark of a Ban-druidh, and that the crows favor them to make their nests."

She tugged at her dark locks and watched as they bounced back on release with utter disdain written on her face.

"They're more of a tumbleweed curse if you ask me," she frowned, making Jamie quickly regret his words.

"I didna mean it that way, Sassenach. Truly. Yer curls are lovely. They're like the ripples in a burn when the rain and leaves fall upon it. Luminous as the sky rich in twilight.  And yer eyes, Christ, they're. . ." 

Jamie's voice trailed off when he realized they'd stopped walking and had the wide-eyed attention of both Elias and Claire. 

As well as everyone else on the street alongside them. 

How loudly had he been blabbering?

But then a smile of pure delight broke across Claire's face, reflecting brightly in her eyes, as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, only for another far more impetuous to take its place.

"How has no one snatched up a charmer like you, Jamie?"

One had. A very oblivious one.

Jamie sheepishly shrugged and found unparalleled interest in the engravings of the wooden box he carried as his face blazed the very color of his beating heart. He looked very much like a schoolboy.

Unnoticed by them though was dear Elias, whose sea-grey eyes darted between them both, grinning sweet as pie.

Walking down another street, Claire finally announced they had arrived, and the men, sore footed and muscle strained, sighed in relief. 

The shop exterior was hard wood and painted coal black while the door was a dark and flaking green. And written in gold on the long framed window beside the door, Jamie read to himself

THE WITHERED BONE 

Potions // Trinkets // Antiques

 & 

The Finest Biscuits This Side of the Black Realm

"Biscuits?" Jamie murmured, knotting his brow. "What kind of shop is this? Like yers, Sassenach?"

"Not necessarily," she said, hand hesitant on the brass doorknob. "For one it's in plain sight. But if you want to call anyone a witch the three who own this place would fit the bill. I think they even have a cauldron."

"They do. I saw it with - uh, nevermind,"  Elias choked at the last, blushing beet red.

Claire arched her brow. "Now Elias -" 

"I know, ma'am," he drawled, fiddling with the strap over his chest. "Stay away from Ms. Annalise and keep to your side."

"And Jamie -"

He looked at her smiling wryly. "Ms. Annalise?"

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You stay at the front of the shop. There's nothing there that can bite your nose off."

Claire then ushered them both through the door.

Inside, it was a cluttered jumble of anything and everything. An elaborate display of lost treasures from Africa to France and most prominently the Jacobite resistance in all its doomed glory. There was an array of vintage costume jewelry, stacked stop tables against the walls and racks of overflowing clothing a group of young girls were pawing through, where one in particular, all flaxen hair and big doe eyes, was swaying to the melancholy chords of a record that crackled softly in the background.

What makes you think love will end?

When you know that my whole life depends 

On you

It was a tune Jamie remembered his parents dancing to. His mother had been wrapped in his father's arms as he nuzzled her cheek, softly mouthing the words against her skin. The young girl hummed it too as she gazed dreamily at a dress in her hands.

Overhead hung a simple iron chandelier that seemed to have been ripped straight from a castle's dungeon, dripping hot candle wax to a metal bowl placed on the hardwood floors. One burning drop fell down Jamie's neck as he walked beneath them, that had him cursing underbreath as he scrunched his shoulders and knocked his knee into a table, rattling the knickknacks.

"Ye break it ye buy it, laddie," came a voice from the front of the shop. "I'll take cash and the blood of yer first born."

"Oh, Geilie," said Claire and crossed over to the counter, leaning over the glass display of dirks and sgian dhu (with a cookie jar atop) to kiss a rather wicked to the bone looking redhead's cheek. "You are terrible." 

"It wasn'a as if I lied," Geilie snickered, turning her attention first to young Elias who flinched under her unnerving gaze then to Jamie, blatantly raking over his physique before Claire stepped into her view.

"Who's the clumsy stag ye've brought wi' ye, Claire?"

"A friend who I very much like as he is. No twitching your nose or feeding him your biscuits." She then mumbled to Jamie at her shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel, remember?" 

"Ye're never any fun," she pouted, then pointed her chin. "Have ye a name, stag?" 

"Jamie," he replied simply, not at all trusting the unsettling woman before him with more than that.

"Weel then, Jamie, ye can leave that in the corner there and you," she looked at Elias with a devilish grin as she propped her chin on her hand and drummed her fingers to her cheek. "Louise will be waiting downstairs fer ye, Annalise too. But ye kent that aye?"

While the young lad experienced a sudden shortness of breath, Jamie set the delivery down and rather dumbly asked, "What's downstairs?" 

Geilie's eyes shimmered like the feral beast whose blood she probably bathed in, chilling Jamie down to his bones.

"Why? Are ye needin' an ill-wish like the wee lasses over there." She gestured over to the girls taking their leave. "Mebbe something far more entertaining and lethal like a summoning? Those require a blood sacrifice, ken. Nothing so tender as yer sweet lass here wi' her trade of bits and bobs.

She wasn't kidding. 

Jamie glanced at the doorway that led downstairs, carved with cabbalistic symbols. A faint whiff of bitter herbs wafted through a pigeon blood red curtain that shadowed it, mingling with a coppery tang he could taste on his tongue, tainting the air. It churned his wame with sick.

"Or are ye wantin' - Oh!" She quickly shot a strange and startled look over to Claire.

"Leave him be, Geilie," Claire chided, unaware of the questions in her sometimes friend's eyes as she threw all her attention on Jamie.

"We'll only be a minute," she assured him with a hand running down his arm, sending a shock of steadying warmth through him that he knew came from someplace bewitching within her. "And don't worry about Geilie, she won't touch a hair on your head when she knows I can shrivel hers like a prune."

Jamie smiled at his own Ban-druidh. Must've whispered it too, to deserve the pinch she gave him before leaving  with Elias downstairs to the witch's grisly lair.

"I ken what yer after, mo bhalaich," came Geilie's voice, softly speaking to him as if he were a friend. "I can see it festering in ye like hemlock, yer love fer the Sassenach."

Jamie nervously glanced over to the doorway. "I dinna ken what yer on about, woman." 

"Dinna bother hidin' it, no' like she can see it anyhow. She hasn't the heart fer it, ye see. Hers was taken by her old master, the wee frog, who lived in that house of hers before she di'. She hasn'a a clue where it is, doesn'a even ken it's missin', and wi'out it she canna love ye back."

"Why - Why should I believe you?"  Jamie asked haltingly, for his throat was being strangled by his heart, ripped from beneath his ribs.

"Why would I lie, ye puir wee fool? Save yerself, getaway, or that love ye carry will swallow ye whole, heart and soul and breath."

Only when she touched the tender spot on his chest did Jamie realize he was bent over the counter a hair's breadth away from the witch, close enough to see the harsh and earnest truth pooling in her eyes.

 Then she pushed him away. 

"All done," said Claire, coming through the curtain, and cast her gaze between the two in front of her.

"What have you two been doing?" She waved a finger at them both.

"Oh, a little talking is all. Nothing more," grinned Geilie, face a mask of perfect innocence.  

Claire hummed, believing otherwise and tried to make light of whatever she saw troubling Jamie's face. "You should know whatever Geilie told you, it's probably only half as bad or twice as worst,"  

"Och, I'm sure of it, Sassenach. Shall we go?" Jamie said hurriedly, not meeting her eye. Trying to forget what the witch had said. 

She slowly nodded, her face lined with concern, but tucked her slender arm through his and gave Geilie a half-hearted goodbye. Immediately,  Jamie felt the blood in his veins flow to his heart now beating in its proper place and air return to his lungs. 

But somewhere deep inside himself, Jamie could feel the beginnings of a rotting ache bloom and take root. He was already too far gone.

"You didn't eat the biscuits did you." 

He managed a weak chuckle and swallowed. "No lass." But then he swiveled his head. "Where's the wee lad?" 

In five seconds flat, Claire had Elias by his arm like a child, his face a burning fever red and eyes bowed to the ground with Ms. Annalise leaning at the doorway, a beguiling smile on her face.

No time is wasted that makes  two people friends

//

THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments on this fic. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!!

!!MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Now Author Notes

*First off sorry for all the messy mistakes and eye gouging writing

*Thanks to @soinspiredbyyou/ @mo-nighean-rouge for help with the line tweaking "Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart." Although hers was actually better "Perhaps preceded by a phrase stirring in his heart" but preceded sounded too smart and too good for my dummy words.

*The descriptions of Cobhar are from the book cause I don't know anything about horses.

*The song is Never My Love

*I may come back and fiddle with this chapter but I really wanted to get this done before Christmas.

*Next chapter will be the last