#long as amber of ember glows

[likehephaestionwhodied]

Remembered I saw Would that I live at red rocks

[faint-taste-of-almonds]

I like the idea of there being something a little sharper about Zaunites.

Jayce often turns around to find Viktor much closer than he had thought, even being able to hear the tapping of his cane. During late nights in the lab, his amber eyes burn violently in the blue glow of the hexgems. On the rare occasion he blinks, Jayce can swear they appear reflective, like a cat’s. Just tricks of the light and the mind.

Mel’s skin rises the first time Jayce brings Viktor to a Council meeting. They’ve met before, of course, but there’s something immovable in his grip when she shakes his hand, touching him for the first time. Viktor smiles ingenuinely, almost mockingly, at something Salo says, and his teeth are a tad sharp. Mel has grown up around war, around danger, but it had always come for her head on. In Piltover, it came in the form of ruining reputations or profits. She wonders how thoroughly Viktor could ruin someone before they even realized he was there. She dreams of wolves and foxes that night, and from a tree, the ember-bright eyes of a lynx watches, waiting for the other predators to tear each other apart.

Vi likes to climb. Caitlyn knows this, though she supposes she didn’t really think about it. It’s almost beautiful to watch, really — the agile switches, the power thrumming beneath Vi’s skin like she might burst from it. Vi maneuvers through the rooftops of Zaun as easily as breathing. Sometimes, Caitlyn’s own breath will catch when the jump looks too far, too much, then Vi’s hand will catch the ledge without fail and she can huff a laugh. She ignores how many distances Vi has crossed that shouldn’t be crossable. Like a cat, a Zaunite will always land on their feet.

Ekko seems to move quite strangely, Heimerdinger thinks. Though, he’s never truly paid close attention to human movements, the boy seems to traverse without the normal effect of gravity, as if he simply never dismounted his hoverboard. It was far too smooth, far too even — it took a considerable time for Heimerdinger to put his finger on it. As they discover the sickness of the tree, the pattern changes. Ekko glitches sometimes, staying in one place for too long before seemingly being sling-shot through space, appearing somewhere else without having gotten there. A mystery for later, he supposes.

Silco feels like a condensation of all Zaun’s noxious gases, perhaps with a vein of Shimmer added for realism. Marcus feels like his lungs are clouding just from being around him, getting the urge to cough out the pollution. Silco is the grimy cracks, the perpetually-wet streets, the sunken ribs and track marks of every body slumped on every street. His voice curls around Marcus like a snake, squeezing tighter and tighter until the fear and the threats are the only things left in his brain. Yet, Silco sits calmly, always far too still. Sometimes his scar appears to splinter in front of Marcus’s eyes. When he tucks his daughter in a night, he wonders about what kind of monster might slip, unheard, through the cracks of her window.

There’s always been Something in the air in Zaun. The water too. Really, can one be surprised at the consequences?

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The way to heal a heart." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

When his heart can’t stand the pain of a loss, you discover why Daryl ignored you all those days. But there, you tell your husband the way his heart can heal.

A/N: Based on the conversation between Maggie and Daryl after Glenn's death. (Spoiler alert: also Daryl briefly threatening a poor guy for touching you, because I don't like things to get too serious TT–TT) Hope you like it. Thank you!

The small and cozy cabin loses the amber glow that the fire of the small chimney caused when Daryl throws the sand on the hot embers, extinguishing all the flames. Lying on the small bed, you watch silently as the place loses its color, but the heat is still impregnated in the air and on the walls, and you feel it as a little shelter for your husband and for you, far from the walkers and the world in general.

When Daryl reaches the bed, he kicks off his boots, taking off his vest next, his shirt and his pants, leaving them on the floor to get in the bed too, where the heat of his body wraps you as he puts his left arm around you, resting on his right side to stroke your belly under the covers.

Living there was good, but that wasn’t the reality and you two had to take a step to it, so tomorrow you two would go to the Hilltop.

“I wish I had said good–bye.” You say. King Ezekiel didn’t offer his help to fight against Negan, but you would always thank him for his help towards Daryl. “I think we should leave the Kingdom in the right way.”

Although Daryl didn’t like that the king hadn’t helped you all, he recognized Ezekiel’s gesture towards him.

“We can come back someday. Kids were crazy ‘bout ya.”

Even if you trained them to protect themselves during your stay, they kept the innocence within, intact and bright, despite how cold and grey the new world had become. But the future was uncertain for them and for you two, and you worry about what would happen next.

“Do you think we’ll be okay after all this?”

Daryl was never a person who thought of the future either, the difficulties of his life took him to live one day at a time, without great plans or big expectations. But he found you there, as a light of hope, and then he found himself wanting more. He didn’t dream of impossible things, but simply asking to have one more day with you.

“As long as we’re together everythin’ will be fine.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I want to.” He says, looking softly at you. His doubts and his negatives had consumed his life in the old world, but he had to find himself falling too deep to then realized that he wanted to live in this new one. “Close yer eyes, peach. We’ll leave early tomorrow.”

The hours pass when you fell asleep and it feels like being on a cloud, far from the fear of dying or losing your people. There is no heavy guilt on your shoulders, no recollections of who you are and who you had to become to survive, no walkers, no blood, without a world painted red. But suddenly, your heart starts feeling heavy, and your body sinks into a complete darkness, fear and weeping. Your closed eyelids move, trying to wake you up from that high fever, until finally, you do. You sit on the bed, taking a big breath of air, back in reality where the cabin is no longer warm, but then you realize the nightmare isn’t yours. It is not in your head, but in Daryl’s.

“Daryl, hey, wake up…” You shake his shoulder. Lying still on right left side, his body moves against the bed, his hair covering his face as he complained. “Daryl!”

The last push finally awakes him, and for a moment, Daryl finds himself looking to the void, in a place far away from there as he sits down too and breathes through his parted lips, his gaze lost and his chest rising and falling sharply.

“Hey, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare—”

“No… it was somethin’ else.”

“What?”

But Daryl remains silent for a while, never saying what it really was. The cool night air helps him to calm down, and Daryl finally comes to be himself after he was lost in his own memories.

“Ya should… lie down again.”

He looks at your side of the bed with his head down as he did when he was ashamed, and without saying anything else, he lay back down with his back to you. In that moment, you realize Daryl is suddenly far gone again, but you don’t want to force anything with him, so you just lay sideways too, your gaze fixed on the scars on his back.

It takes you some time to fall asleep, but the hours pass in a few seconds when you do, and then, it is day again: the birds are singing a sweet song, and it is time to leave. The muscles of your body are tense, and you find yourself staring at the wooden ceiling after you rub your burning eyes with your fists.

“Time to go, peach…” Daryl is standing next to the table, already dressed as he packs his backpack and yours. “Get yer pretty ass outta bed and get dressed.”

He seems to be in a good mood that morning, so you decide not to press him to speak and wait for him to do it first.

There are no walkers around the forest near the Hilltop, and the group of future archers had improved greatly in the previous days since you and Daryl got there. But when the afternoon falls slowly, there are only two people with you, a young man and a young woman, twins. They are the best in the group; they are the strongest too, especially since they are not afraid to fight for their freedom.

“Have you been married for a long time, (Y/N)?”

Sean is a good man, young, brave, handsome, determined, but blushes when Mary, standing in front of you two, chuckles to herself before shooting her arrow that hit the target perfectly. She and her brother live in a trailer and they gave Daryl and you a place in their home.

“Sometimes it feels like centuries.” You chuckle at him, and then, you look back at Mary. “That was amazing, Mary, well done. You are getting better every day.”

She smiles at you.

“Are you flirting with (Y/N), Sean?” Maggie’s voice behind you makes everyone turn around. The knife–throwing lesson group is already moving away in the distance to get back home, and only Maggie and Sasha are left. “That’s a very bad idea.”

“If Daryl finds out I don’t want to think what he would do.” Sasha chuckles, making fun of him. “He doesn't like people getting too close to his wife. He just wants (Y/N) all by himself.”

Suddenly, Sean looks frightened, because he had met a very silent Daryl. That scared the strangers.

“Thank you, Sasha.” You say, but she just laughs as you look at Sean with a soft gaze. “They're kidding, Sean, please, don't listen to them.”

Maggie chuckles.

“Okay, it’s time to go, guys. Get your things and go home.”

Everyone on the Hilltop respected Maggie, so the twins take their things and walk in the same direction as the other group after saying goodbye. You walk towards the tree and pick up the arrows. They are firm against the trunk, and you think how easy it would be to embed it in the body of the enemy. But that is a dark thought, so you push it away and go back with the girls to walk through the woods.

“Is Daryl okay, (Y/N)?”

Your gaze moves from the front and you look to your left without stopping. Maggie waits, her eyes looking at you with concern. You know where her question is going, because since you and Daryl came to that place, he couldn’t look at Maggie in the eyes.

“Yeah. He is.”

Your short answer makes her nod, thoughtful, but she is not satisfied with it. Maggie loved Daryl, she worried about him, and you knew nothing had changed for her.

“He seems distant these days.”

You knew perfectly well that Daryl was being distant with everybody. He disappeared all day in the forest and barely spoke at night, and the only one who seemed to be able to approach him was Jesus. It hurt you to think that Daryl didn’t lean on you as your husband, but he was like that and you knew it when you married him, and now, you can’t complain.

The amber light from the lamp on the picnic table glows in the dark and cold night as you and Jesus play cards. You are sitting down on the wooden chair while resting your elbows on the table, having a good time with him, but you didn’t tell him that you only stayed up so late because Daryl hadn’t yet returned.

Time passed and you worried more.

“And… straight flush!” Jesus throws his cards on the table feeling like a winner. All his cards are hearts: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. ��Beat that, (Y/N).”

You chuckle.

“It is impressive, Jesus, but you don’t win with that…” You push your cards on the table, too, five cards of spades from 10 to ace, without feeling like a winner though. “I think this is a Royal flush. And it means I win.”

Jesus leans his elbows on the table as his expression falls.

“If this was not ordinary poker I would have lost all my clothes by now.”

You laugh, and for a moment, that seems like a very distant memory. Jesus begins to laugh with you, but his smile dies as the gates open and he looks back. You both look in the same direction and see Daryl coming in with his crossbow around his body and a canvas bag that seems to be heavy, so surely he had hunted some animals.

Jesus turns again and picks up all the cards as Daryl walks towards you two. The distance is long so Jesus speaks freely, but softly.

“He’s just having a bad time, (Y/N), but don’t worry about him.”

It was impossible not to worry about him.

“I know his personality is… special, but it’s a bit hurtful that he still can not talk to me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to do it, it’s just that Daryl doesn’t want to worry you. He doesn’t know how to do it, too.” He sighs. “Should we play again?”

You are still not sleepy and being awake turning on the bed is not a tempting idea, so you nod while finally, Daryl reaches you two.

“Shouldn’t ya be sleepin’?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse.

He cares about you, he always did.

“We’re playing cards.”

“I’m playing; (Y/N) is kicking my ass.” Jesus chuckles, handing out the cards. “Do you want to play, Daryl?”

“Nah. I’ll go to sleep.”

Daryl just passes you by and walks away. You feel that your body falls when you exhale, but you take the cards to forget the matter, at least for a while.

After about 25 minutes, you call it a night when your eyelids start to feel heavy, so you say goodnight to Jesus and walk back to the trailer. You didn’t sleep much anymore, but sometimes, under the apparent protection of the gates surrounding you, you could lay down for a while, to stop thinking.

Inside and on the other side of the trailer, Sean and Mary are sleeping too, so you quietly take off your boots before lying down on the bed. From his side, Daryl sleeps with his back to you. However, lying on your left side and as you drift off into a light sleep, you feel Daryl rolling over in bed, blindly searching for the warmth of your body, pressing himself against you, because that reminded him that he is still alive.

In the Hilltop orchard, you are glad to see the vegetables growing perfectly. The days were good in that place because the people accepted you two so fast. Mutual help was what increased the trust between the community and the new guests, and until then, everything went well.

Squatting, your hands become dirty as you remove some soil.

“Normal people would wear gloves, (Y/N).” Sean chuckles, appearing in front of you as you stand up.

“Are you calling me weird?” You tease him and run the back of your hand down your face to scratch your cheek. “I thought you were practicing with the bow.”

“I was going to go now, but I thought you were going with us.” He smiles a little bit, kind of shy.

You smile a little bit too.

“Not today, Sean. My arm hurts.”

The bowstring used to scrape your skin every time you released the rope, and the friction was starting to burn, but the truth is that you are tired mentally after last night.

“(Y/N)…” Sean chuckles, again. “You have some dirt on your cheek.”

Your first reaction is to clean it, but getting even more soil on your face. Sean tries not to laugh, and you wipe your hands on your jean before trying again.

“I think I should have worn gloves. Guess you were right after all.” You chuckle. “But don't tell Sean, I don't want him to think he's always right.”

He smiles.

“Here… let me do it for you.” Sean hides his hand on his long sleeve to help, and he wipes your face gently. “We don’t want you to go around here with your pretty face dirty.”

But there, just as in the romantic books you used to read before the world went to hell; Daryl has to arrive at the wrong time to misunderstand the situation completely, and in that moment, he takes Sean’s arm and pushes it away from you.

“Keep yer hands off ma wife or I’ll break ‘em, kid. I ain’t gonna say it twice.”

You feel terrible, because Sean is still young and easy to scare.

“Daryl…” You call him in such a firm voice that he turns to look at you. The fire inside is suddenly burning, but Sean is not the one to blame for anything as you look back at him. “Sean, leave us alone, please.”

He looks at Daryl and then at you, wondering if you would be okay. But, even scared of Daryl's horrible silence the past days, Sean remains in his place.

“(Y/N), are you sure?” He whispers, and his small words are enough to make Daryl narrow his eyes, giving Sean a look full of anger.

“Are ya fuckin’ thinkin' I’m gonna hurt ma wife, kid?” But before Daryl can take a step towards him, you block his way with your body, causing your husband to stop dead in his tracks, however, you can’t stop him from keep talking. “Ya better walk away ‘fore I start beatin’ yer ass.”

You are mad as hell.

“Daryl, shut it!” You say firmly again, without raising your voice because that wasn’t in your nature, sadly, and you look at Sean. “Sean, leave. In any case, I would hurt him first so don’t worry. Go, please.”

Unsure, Sean walks away, but it's your confident words that keep Daryl looking at you. However, before you could say anything to him, you hear the man on the gates screaming that the saviors are coming.

“(Y/N)! Daryl!” Enid shouts running toward you from the gates, and you two run towards her and meet halfway. “You two must hide. The saviors should not know that you two are here.”

“Wait, no…” You say quickly. “We must find Maggie first. She’s in the woods with the others.”

“Jesus went to warn her. She will be alright. Come on!” Enid runs toward the building behind and you two run after her.

The sound of the cars become clearer and the gates open just as you all surround the building. Enid stops at the wooden doors that would lead you two to a cellar in a small basement, but it doesn’t feel right, not while the others are exposed with the saviors there.

However, Daryl opens the door and waits for you to enter.

“I will come for you when they are gone.” Enid says behind you.

Against everything, you walk down the stone steps and open the wooden door to enter the cellar while the place sinks in the darkness the moment Enid closes the doors above. The vegetable baskets are stack on shelves, and you push one to the side, which had enough space for you to hide in case someone come down. But, when you turn, you see Daryl staring through a hole in the door with his knife in his hand.

“Daryl, this is not the right time…” You whisper. Your mouth is dry and you feel your heart as tight as your stomach. “Please, don’t do it, not now.”

The plea in your voice surprise him, so he turns around and you both hide. The shadows of the basement serve as protection as he pushes the shelf back into the right place. It is not long before the outside doors open again, and the light enters through the cracks in the wood. You hold your breath when one of the saviors comes in, watching everything around him and then taking a basket. The place is full with food and the savior begins to collect the vegetables, piling them near the door.

And again and again, he turns his back on you, unprotected. Daryl lifts the knife in his hand, squeezing it hard, so close to kill the savior. But, even if you know he could handle one of them, they are too many outsides for you to make it alive, so you raise one hand and close it around his wrist, soft but firm, and at then, he finally looks at you after days. His blue eyes hold your gaze, and you slowly shake your head to stop him.

Fortunately, the savior takes his things and leave. Your heart feels less heavy and you breathe again as Daryl and you step out of that little hiding place. Doubts return to you, and you wonder how much harm those people could do, and how much harm you could do, and you ask for the time when you only had to worry about the walkers.

“I could have killed him.” Daryl grunts with his back in front of you.

The hatred to them for having kept him in that cell was never going to disappear.

“I know well you could. But you didn’t think about the consequences.”

Through his shirt, you see his back tenses.

“I never do it, do I? That’s why people die… ‘cause of me.”

The guilt you hear in his voice takes your breath away. Daryl really believed that, and his voice was so sincere and broken that it breaks your heart. The guilt is on his shoulders, you can see it more clearly know, so heavy that he can hardly bear it.

“Daryl…” You say, preparing to say your best friend’s name. “Glenn’s death was not your fault.”

Daryl turns, head down and part of his hair covering his face. His strength is destroyed, and he sobs before he speaks.

“It was… I have nightmares 'bout it. If I had not been so stupid—”

“Daryl, no…” You try again, taking a deep breath first. It is hard for you to hear his words, because they are not true. “Things happen, people die and we can’t help it, but we can honor their lives, fight for the things they believed in. They are not here but we are, and now I understand that we owe them this because they deserve it. Glenn was brave, kind, strong, and had a beautiful heart that no one else. He stayed true to himself, he didn’t lose part of him in this world, and he loved you so much because you and he were exactly the same.” Silent tears are about to fall from your eyes, but you stop them for a moment. “Talk to Maggie, okay? Listen to her and believe when she tells you that she loves you so much because she wouldn’t lie to you. The way she sees you has not changed at all, but you have to forgive yourself even if you are not guilty of anything. Be stronger and fight for Glenn, make him feel proud. It’s the only way you can live in peace.”

He takes a moment, but finally, Daryl nods: he wipes his face and tries to hold your gaze.

“M’ sorry for leavin’ ya alone these days. M’ so sorry, peach.” He says softly, and you walk to him to put your arms around his shoulders. He clings to you like his life depends of it, arms around your waist, holding your body against him. His beard tickles your bare neck and he takes a deep breath before looking back at you, but without letting you go from his side. “And I would never hurt ya, never, y’know it, right?”

You let out a sigh, knowing that from there, things will get better.

“I know, love, but you still have to apologize to Sean.” You smile a little bit just to lighten the mood, pushing away a few strands of his hair out of his face to look into his eyes, but at the same time letting him know that you are serious. “If not, I'm going to have to hurt you, like, seriously.”

Daryl smiles softly, and he nods, hugging you again.

At that very moment, he’s letting out all the pain that was hurting him all that time, but that is the first step to healing. And you know everything will improve over time. Hearts healed at their own pace but they did eventually. And right there, your hearts are regenerating, closing their wounds and beating harder than before.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 19

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: Have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen rises, restless as her skirts sweep around her, streaked from the hem with the filth of the road. Her insistence on finery has proven fruitless. Her once prized gown will likely never be free of stains. She has many more, you only hope they survive the journey. 

She struts back and forth, scowling as she faces the wall and drops her shoulders. 

“Why is there no mirror?” She pouts, “this place is drab. How am I supposed to keep from going blind with dullness.” She flops back onto the bed, “ugh,” she rolls over, “maid, I need wine.” 

“Your highness,” you say sheepishly. 

“Do not,” she raises her hand in a harsh point, “I don’t care about the king’s orders. I have been on the road for weeks, I am sore, I am filthy, and I am tired!” She snaps her fingers, “if I want wine I will have it.” She puts her hand over her middle, “it is for the king’s child. He is thirsty.” 

You avert your eyes. You can’t deny her. Even if the king ordered that she be deprived, you cannot look her in the face and tell her no. If they king never knows, it mightn’t matter. You turn, your disobedience nipping at your ears. 

You emerge into the corridor. The orange-haired guard remains, along with the shadow standing across from him. Bryce looms, picking his nails with a small dagger.  

“Has the queen retired so early?” He asks. 

“She requires wine,” you return, “I won’t be long, sir. Might you point me towards the kitchen?” 

“I will accompany you,” he insists as he stand straight. 

“Do not trouble, sir, I am faster alone. I only need direction.” 

You see the disappointment tick in his cheek. You’re not so mad as you were, only cautious. The king will always come first, his will shall always circumvent your own. It is a reality you knew before but now it gleams in a much different light. 

“Down to the east, on the lower floors behind the statue of the knight in black armor,” he explains, “do take care not to lose yourself.” 

“I will, sir,” you nod and glance over at the other soldier. The man with carroty hair eyes you up and down. 

You flit off, hurrying upon your quest for a bottle. You’re not certain you’ll find bounty in your mission. This is not the king’s castle and you are not a thief. 

You descend and come around the bottom of the wide stone railings. The great hall is empty and only a few lanterns remain lit to guide you. You go east and find your way, coming upon the knight in black armour that at first appears as a real sentinel in the dark. You stop to look upon the suit, admiring the ripples in its forging. 

You go into the kitchen and find the haze of the stove lighting the empty space. You peer around at the dark alcoves as the air glows amber, pulsing with the heat of the embers. You tiptoe inside, narrowing your eyes to see through the dim. 

“Are ya lost?” A growl rises from the darkness.��

You spin and face the black silhouette of a large man stood on the other side of the thick wooden table at the center of the kitchens. You gulp and sway on your feet. He must be the cook or perhaps the cellarer. He likely thought you a rat scurrying around looking for crumbs. 

“No, sir, I... would there be a bottle of wine? For the queen?” You ask, your voice catching in your throat as he looms like some great husky bear. He reminds you of the white beast in the corridor as he comes around the table, the light catching the white of his thick locks. 

His body is as thick as a barrel and his shoulders broader. The flickering hue reveals the scar above his left brow and his pocked cheeks. You wonder at the tint of his hair as you try to tell if it’s the age the lines his face or if it is the same effect as the king. 

“Wine? For the queen?” He echoes sonorously, “hmmm.” 

“Yes, sir, if there would be any to spare?”  

“Mm, suppose a bottle might go missing,” he backs up and turns. He doesn’t beckon you onward but you follow anyway. Something about him bids you without a word. 

He takes you to the far end of the kitchens and grunts as he squats and reaches to his belt, jangling a ring of iron keys. He shoves one in the thick lock in the clasp of the hatch and unhooks it. He lifts the heavy door, thick cedar bolstered with steel and throws it back to hit the floor. 

“Ah, hold,” he signals you with a palm as he stands and retreats. 

He strides across the kitchens and without a word, shuffles in a cupboard. He mutters as he takes a tallow and lights its wick from the embers, setting it into a brass holder. He offers it to you and you take it without a word, curious at the grumbly cook. 

He descends the steep stairs first and you follow, balancing the candle carefully. He takes you by the elbow to help you to the beaten floor and you raise the candle to light the expanse of the cellar. It extends well past the limits of the flame’s eye. 

He goes to a shelf and slides a bottle free of its cubby. He tuts and puts it back. He pulls out several bottles before he makes a decision. He comes closer to examine the glass by the flame. 

“Summer wine,” he says and flicks his pale eyes up to you. They remind you of the king’s though they are paler in the candlelight. “And you, serve the summer queen?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You are a summerer?” He asks. 

“Sir,” you bow your head, “you can tell?” 

“Aye, no winter’s blood wears a cloak with walls to hold them over,” he chuckles and looks around. 

You glance down at the cloak. You hadn’t thought to remove it as the cold radiates from the stone. Even without the wind, a shiver creeps through your flesh. 

He frightens you as he reaches for you, only to touch the fur collar of the cloak, rubbing a tuft between his fingertips, “it is well made.” He lets his hand trail along the front and turns out the interior of the trim. You look down your nose as he reveals a patch you didn’t notice before; a wolf’s head. 

“Yes, sir, it is warm,” you agree and he withdraws his hand. 

“Suppose a summer’s maid needs it more than a winter’s king,” he says. 

You’re quiet. You have nothing to say to that. How many others took note of you in the king’s cloak? Do they whisper about it? 

“Your queen may take the wine,” he holds out the bottle, “and the king, might have a cask of ale should he require. Only one,” he lets go of the bottle as you accept it and holds up a finger, “he does not have leave to drink this cellar dry. Crown or no crown.” 

“Yes, sir. Many thanks.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, peering down at you, “a dove like you is out of place in this nest of vultures,” he muses and gently takes the candle from your hand, “better fly back to your queen, bird.” 

“Sir,” you turn towards the stairs as the candle illuminates your shadow against the shelves. You turn to climb and peer back at the man. He watches you, his eyes flickering with the flame. 

“Gentle creatures don’t fare well in the cold,” he clucks, “best keep that cloak close.” 

You ascend and cradle the bottle at the top, keeping it close as the liquid sloshes heavily inside. You pad over the kitchen floor and into the corridor. The great hall is even colder as the shadows ripple over you. As you come up the stairs, a shiver quakes through you. 

Something about that man, about his words, clings to you. His way of speaking is ominous, like those card readers who would visit Lady Rezlyn. Or perhaps it is only that you are waiting for the inevitable. 

As you near the queen’s chambers, you hear distant footsteps from the other direction. You come in sight of the grey soldier, spinning his knife as he whistles, the redhead guard sending him an irritated glower. You slow, preparing for the guard to repel you or at least seize the bottle from your arms. 

He does not. Even as he turns his scowl on you, he only reaches for the door to let you in. Before he can push inward, a throat clears. You all pause and turn to face the new figure. The king looks between you all; from the guard, to you, to Bryce. Your nerves flutter wildly. You haven’t been this close since the night on the pass. 

“I hope that wine is meant for you, Sir Bryce,” King Geralt booms, “as my queen is not permitted to indulge. She has a vile reaction to the stuff.” 

“Your highness,” the guard swallows audibly, “I... the queen--” 

“The queen is my wife and a wife must bend to the will of her husband,” the king insists hotly. The guard’s expression draws and he mutters an apology. 

“I was unaware of the ban,” Bryce intones, “but I’ll gladly claim the bottle for my own.” 

“Gilles,” King Geralt ignores the quip and points to the redhead guard, “you will inform the queen that she needs retire for the night. In her condition, it is necessary that she rests. If she requires sustenance, she may have bread and cheese and a bit of goat’s milk.” 

“Your highness,” the guard, Gilles, nods diligently. 

“And you will fetch it yourself,” the king insists, “I trust you might find your way around a tray.” 

Gilles stares at the king then slowly pushes into the queen’s chamber. The king nears and takes the bottle from your hand. You let him and back up as Bryce steps closer. 

“Your highness,” the soldier begins, “if I’d been aware--” 

“Hardly matters now,” the king shrugs and steps close to his man. He leans in and whispers something you cannot hear, “as you were,” he slaps his shoulder then continues on. You watch after him, perplexed but relieved at his indifference. Perhaps he has rethought his intent. 

Bryce is quiet until the king’s footfalls fade off. He lowers his chin, rubbing his thick beard. He touches your cloak, a small tug on it, “this way, maid. Let us find you a place to lay your head.” 

The promise of a bed is nice and reminds you of your weariness. Your legs ache as you follow Bryce along the corridor. Your shoulders rack and the remnants of the road begin to lace through your muscles. It is only as you think of laying down that you feel the effect of those last months. 

You yawn and stifle it in your hand. Bryce glances over and lets out a willowy breath. He is certain of his path despite the twists and turns. He directs you to a door at the base of one of the castle’s towers, opening it to a spiraling staircase. 

“Would be at the top.” 

You look up at the winding ascent. The walls are mounted with lanterns over every fifth step. You frown and pull back, turning to the soldier. Your stomach churns. 

“Up there? May I not rest in the servant’s quarters?” 

“You must be closer to the queen,” his lip trembles. He raises his chin and looks away. When his eyes meet yours again, he puts his hands on your shoulders, “rest your head, mouse, you’ve come very far. You’ve earned it.” 

You look at him. You know he isn’t saying all he could. He can’t. You put your hands on his arms and squeeze.  

“I’ll try,” you affirm, “thank you, sir. I am very tired.” 

“Yes, mouse, sleep,” he pulls away. 

“Good night, sir.” 

He hesitates, “good night.” 

He turns stiffly and marches off. You step into the staircase as his shadow disappears and you pull the door shut. You look up, climbing step by step, legs shaking as you get higher and higher. You reach the top step and another door. 

You push the handle down and the lever rises on the other side. You enter the chamber to find it empty. You stand at the threshold and turn, searching for any shadow, any shimmer in the low light of the fireplace. It’s only you. 

You breathe and turn to look down the staircase. You listen. Nothing but the winds battering the walls without. You close the door and slowly wade into the warmth of the room. The windows are hung in heavy curtains and there is a tray waiting on the table. An ewer, cups, a plate heaping with delights. You aren’t hungry for any of it, you’re too uneasy. 

You unbuckle the cloak and drag it from your shoulders. You turn it over your arm and feel the patch sewn into the lining, examining the wolf’s yellow eyes. He’d marked you and you never even knew it. You fold the heavy length over a chair and back away. 

You untie your cap and unveil the short shanks of hair jutting out from your scalp. You haven’t had a chance to shear your unruly locks before they could get too long. You fold the cap and put it on the bed. You remove your apron then your dress and leave them with your cap. 

You take a pillow and a blanket from the mattress and bring them down to the bench at the end of the bed. You fit yourself onto the hardwood and watch the fire’s light pulse on the stone wall. Your eyes glimmer with tears, turning your vision to speckled hues. 

It’s all so nice, too nice for you, and knowing why you’ve come upon it, turns it sour. It is not kindness, there is expectation attached to such generosity. You should’ve known. You did. You were just too stupid to see it, just as the queen always said. 

You twit. 

You close your eyes and pull the blanket to your chin. You embrace the warmth, your one comfort left. There’s a long road that awaits you still. Not only through the Hinterlands but another, more treacherous path. One you never meant to stumble upon. 

Your body weakens, succumbing to your fatigue, overtaking your wrought mind. Your eyes roll back behind their lids and your breath peters out. Sleep enshrines you as blackness eclipses the orange haze of the chamber. 

[angelbaby191]

Love in the Woods

Fantasy! Bakugo x Reader

TW: HEAVY Fluff

The forest was alive with twilight’s embrace. Shafts of golden light filtered through the canopy, bathing the world in an amber glow. The air was thick with the sweet aroma of blooming honeysuckle, mingled with the earthy scent of moss and pine. Somewhere in the distance, a soft trill of birdsong accompanied the rustling of leaves.

A quiet hum beneath the soft twilight that seemed to stretch endlessly overhead. Each step forward revealed a new layer of beauty: the faint rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush, the cool, damp scent of moss mingling with the sweetness of jasmine, and the distant bubbling of a hidden stream.

"Hey," Bakugo barked over his shoulder, his gruff voice shattering the tranquil ambiance. "Ya plannin’ on keeping up, or am I supposed to carry yer lazy ass through this whole forest?"

You rolled your eyes, quickening your steps until you were beside him. "You know, if you weren't constantly yelling, this might actually be a peaceful walk."

He snorted, the sound full of his usual bravado. "Peaceful's just another word for boring."

“And yet you brought me here,” you countered, casting him a sidelong glance.

Bakugo's lips twitched, his expression unreadable. “You wouldn’t shut up about wanting to see this place. Figured it’d shut you up for a while.”

You smirked, refusing to rise to the bait. "How thoughtful of you, Katsuki. Truly selfless."

“Tch. Whatever,” he muttered, his eyes flicking away. But the pink creeping up his neck betrayed him, and you felt a small swell of victory.

Ahead, the trees began to thin, revealing a small clearing bathed in the faint glow of moonlight. The sight took your breath away. Fireflies danced like tiny stars, their golden light illuminating the clearing in a way that felt otherworldly. The grass was soft and lush, dotted with wildflowers that seemed to shimmer under the fireflies' glow.

Bakugo walked ahead, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his crimson eyes darting around the trees as though expecting an ambush. You trailed behind him, your cloak brushing against wildflowers that reached out as if begging for attention.

"Watch your step," he called, though he didn’t glance back.

“I’m not a child,” you replied, though the warmth in his tone made your heart skip..

You adjusted the hem of your cloak as you stepped carefully over a gnarled root, the ground beneath you uneven but springy. Bakugo was ahead, his familiar silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of fireflies. His usual energy was still there—sharp, crackling, like embers in a forge—but there was something quieter tonight.

“Oi, pick up the pace,” Bakugo called over his shoulder. His voice, gruff as always, carried an edge of impatience.

“I’m coming,” you replied evenly, smoothing your expression into something serene. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction—not yet, at least.

“Tch. At this rate, we’ll be here till dawn.”

You bit back a smile, quickening your steps just enough to match his long strides. “You know, if you wanted to rush through this, maybe a forest wasn’t the best place to go.”

He stopped suddenly, turning to glare at you. The way his crimson eyes caught the fading sunlight made your breath hitch, though you’d never admit it aloud.

“I didn’t drag you here to hear you complain,” he shot back.

“Oh, so you admit you dragged me here?” you countered, tilting your head in mock innocence.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, his hand jerking up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s not like that, dumbass. You said you liked this kind of crap, so I figured—whatever. Let’s just go.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, light and genuine. His scowl deepened at the sound, though the pink creeping up his neck told a different story.

“Fine, fine,” you said, falling into step beside him. “Lead the way, oh fearless guide.”

His reply was a low grumble, but he didn’t shake you off when your shoulder brushed his.

The two of you wandered deeper into the forest, the world around you growing softer, quieter, as though the trees themselves were leaning in to listen. The path narrowed, and Bakugo stepped in front of you, brushing aside low-hanging branches with a gruffness that belied his careful movements.

The forest looked truly magical. The way the moonlight hit their the leaves and branches of the trees overhead, made you feel inca fairy tale. You twirled around slowly, to gaze upon all the wonders of the forest.

He snorted at your silliness but stepped along. Continuing to walk along the path to this ‘secret’ metring spot for the two of you, his movements uncharacteristically slow, deliberate. “Looks like a damn fairytale,” he grumbled.

“Exactly,” you replied, your voice soft. “Even you can admit it’s beautiful.”

Bakugo crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Doesn’t matter what I think. You’re the one who wanted to see it.”

There was a pause, the weight of his words settling over you. You stepped closer to him, your boots barely making a sound against the grass. “Thank you, Katsuki,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

He glanced at you, his crimson eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name. “Stop thanking me,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “It’s annoying.”

You laughed softly, and the sound seemed to ease something in him.

The path wound deeper into the woods, the trees growing denser and the air cooler. Every step revealed something new: a patch of flowers that seemed to shimmer with an inner light, or a cluster of mushrooms glowing faintly blue in the gathering dusk.

You paused to admire a particularly beautiful scene—a small clearing where the ground was carpeted with tiny, star-shaped blossoms. “Look at this,” you breathed, crouching to touch one of the petals. It was soft and cool, like silk under your fingers.

“Hurry up,” Bakugo called, his tone sharp. “We don’t have all night.”

You rolled your eyes but stood, brushing your hands against your cloak. “You know, you could try appreciating the moment for once.”

He snorted. “I appreciate that I’m not sitting around doing nothing.”

“Funny, because that’s basically what we’re doing now,” you shot back, unable to resist.

“Is it?” He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. The intensity in his gaze sent a jolt through you. “Feels more like you’re wasting my time.”

The words stung, even though you knew him well enough to hear the unspoken layers beneath them. Still, you crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “No one asked you to come, Bakugo.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working. Then he let out a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re such a pain.”

“And yet here you are,” you pointed out, your tone softening.

His eyes flicked away, the blush from earlier making a reappearance. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta make sure you don’t trip over your own feet.”

The tension broke as quickly as it had formed, and the two of you continued walking. The silence between you was companionable now, broken only by the occasional quip or observation.

“Why do these bugs glow?” Bakugo asked at one point, swatting half-heartedly at a firefly that had ventured too close to his face.

“It’s called bioluminescence,” you explained. “Certain creatures can produce light through a chemical reaction in their bodies.”

“Sounds fake.”

You laughed. “Of course you’d say that.”

The evening deepened, and the forest grew darker. The fireflies became your only source of light, their golden glow flickering like tiny lanterns. Somewhere nearby, the gentle trickle of water hinted at a stream.

You reached it soon after, the sight taking your breath away. The stream was narrow but swift, its surface catching the faint light and reflecting it like a ribbon of silver. Flowers lined its banks, their colors muted but still vibrant in the low light.

Bakugo stood beside you, his usual tension replaced with something quieter. He crouched by the stream, scooping up a handful of water and letting it trickle through his fingers.

“It’s not so bad,” he admitted, his voice low.

You smiled, watching the way his shoulders relaxed. “See? I knew you had a softer side.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, though the words lacked their usual bite.

The fireflies swirled around you, their light painting soft golden patterns on Bakugo’s sharp features. You could see the faint furrow in his brow, the way his shoulders were tense despite the serene setting.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly. Then, after a beat, he let out a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this... crap.”

“This crap?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” he snapped, though his tone lacked heat. “All this... quiet. It’s weird.”

You smiled, stepping closer until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “You don’t have to do anything, Katsuki. Just... be here.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the fireflies seemed to pause in their dance. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race, but you didn’t look away. The grass and twigs cracked and crunched beneath him as he moved closer.

“You’re really something,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was tentative, as though afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you turned your hand, your fingers curling around his.

The world seemed to hold its breath as Bakugo leaned closer, his movements slow, almost hesitant. “You’re gonna laugh,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest.

He searched your eyes for a moment longer before closing the distance between you. His lips were warm, soft, and surprisingly gentle against yours, a stark contrast to the fiery personality you were so used to. The kiss was brief but left you breathless, the taste of him lingering like a spark.

When he pulled back, his ears were red, and he refused to meet your gaze. “Don’t make it a big deal,” he muttered.

You smiled, your heart feeling impossibly light. “Okay,” you said softly. “I won’t.”

The fireflies resumed their dance, swirling around the two of you like a constellation brought to earth. And in that tiny clearing, surrounded by the quiet magic of the forest, it felt as though the entire world had faded away, leaving only the two of you and the bond growing stronger with each passing moment.

[vegan-peppermint]

Your boyfriend's couch

Tim x reader x Brian NSFW

Cw: rough sex, bondage, slight humiliation kink, DP, anal,dumification (have you ever been to Paris?)

(Not proof read, I wrote this in a fever dream after after a pathology exam- enjoy!)

read part 1 here

Wc: 1.9

------------------------------------------------------

What a horrible person you are.

These words kept repeating in your head, settling deep as your hands worked the dough. The kitchen was drowned in darkness, save for the faint, amber glow of the hood light flickering above you. Shadows stretched long and heavy, pressing in. Across the room, a tiny ember flared in the gloom.

Brian sat on the couch, sprawled out without a care in the world. Legs stretched, arms draped carelessly over the backrest, his mask lazily perched just above his nose. A sharp inhale cut through the stillness, followed by the slow, deliberate exhale of smoke curling through the air. It drifted between you, thick and suffocating—much like the weight of the experience you both shared. His presence, indifferent and distant, made the cold feel even colder.

It was such a funny thing, you thought, how the very first thing you chose to do was cook dinner. Tim still hadn’t returned. The last thing you shared was a fight—not great, but normal nonetheless.

Yet here you were, another man's cum dripping from your cunt.

"Stop it." You jumped at Brian's sudden voice. "You're bouncing your leg like crazy."

"Sorry," you murmured. Anxiety and guilt were taking over you—of course you were fidgety. The only oddity was his reaction, or rather, the lack of it.

"How can you have no thoughts whatsoever about what happened?"

Brian exhaled another slow drag of smoke, lips pale in the dim light.

"How do you mean?"

You rolled your eyes and turned your back to him. You placed six small loaves on a tray before shoving them in the oven, slamming the small-windowed door shut. Talking to a goddamn psycho like him felt useless.

"I have plenty of thoughts about that," Brian finally said, his voice as even and unbothered as ever. A slow inhale, a pause, then the familiar exhale of smoke. "I just think none align with your perspective."

"My perspective," you laughed. "I don't think it's a matter of 'perspective,' Brian."

"Then what do you think?" a third voice joined in from the doorway.

You turned sharply toward the doorframe, heart skipping. Brian shifted in his seat, eyes averting Tim’s gaze—unlike yours, which were locked onto him completely.

Tim stood there, arms crossed and expression unreadable. His presence carried a great weight, the kind that pressed down on both of you.

He knew.

Brian didn’t look at him. You did. Your throat tightened, fingers twitching at your sides. The oven hummed behind you, the scent of warming dough filling the silence in your place.

Tim shook his head, eyes never leaving yours. The expression on his face could've been mistaken for disappointment—were it not for the slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

Oh fuck.

Tim grabbed your upper arm, yanking you towards him. The pressure bit into your flesh, drawing a sharp whimper from your lips. You did not dare protest his actions. Not when he shoved you against the wall. Not when he forced you to the floor. And certainly not when his hand slid up the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair, dragging you out of the kitchen and onto the living room sofa.

You did not resist him.

Not even when he called for Hoodie to join.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mmmph…” you moaned as your mouth moved up and down Tim's cock. He kept your head steady with one hand, never allowing you to fully get a breath of air.

"To think I treated her so nicely," he said to Brian, who was sitting beside him on the couch. "Got her flowers, kissed her every night..."

Brian chuckled in response, his eyes following your bobbling head. He reached past Tim's hand and pushed your head down completely, causing you to choke. The tip of your boyfriend's dick bullying the back of your throat.

"Sometimes you gotta give a slut what she wants," he said.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you hesitantly looked up at Tim. He gazed down at you with a newfound curiosity, as if seeing you for the first time. But instead of giving in to your pleading expression, he used his free hand to pinch your nose.

You felt Brian's heavy hand grabbing your hair.

"F-fuck," Tim moaned pushing his hips upward.

Brian controlled your pace now, slower than Tim's but more deliberate. He'd pull you up little by little, watching your lips glide against Tim's length, then slam you back down.

"You want this, right?" Brian cooed as he crouched next to you, forcing you to deep throat Tim. You whimpered, your hands instinctively grabbing onto Tim's thighs in an effort to push yourself further away.

"Tsh-" Briand grabbed your wrists in one swift motion bringing them to your lower back. Your head now free, you take a big breath of air, eyes locked on Tim's.

"Such a pathetic little thing," Tim whispered almost to himself.

"Can't even get mad at such a dumb bitch, can you?" Brian laughed from behind you.

"Here," Tim said, shifting in his seat. "Use this." He finished his sentence as he passed his belt to Brian.

"W-wait," you stammered, the metallic clang of the buckle ringing in your ears. You instinctively turned toward the sound, but before you could focus, Tim’s hand slapped your face, forcing you back to him.

"Even when I'm right here, you still choose to look at him?" he spat, his words laced with warning.

"Tim, please, please wait-" you began but Brian cut you off.

"Fuck's sake, Tim, you gonna let her embarrass you like that?" he huffed as he tightened the belt around your wrists. "When she begged with me- and she begged a lot- it wasn't for me to stop."

You couldn’t ignore the amusement in his tone as your face flushed with embarrassment.

"Come on," Brian said, pulling you to your feet by the shoulders. "I'll show you how to fuck your girlfriend right."

Brian bit mockingly at your earlobe before pushing you down into Tim’s lap. Your legs straddled his sides, the sudden movement throwing you off balance. You had no way to react as your hands were tied behind you, but Tim caught you mere inches from his face—your lips brushing against his own. Your eyes, wide with uncertainty, flickered up to meet his as your heart skipped a beat.

His gaze was steady, the familiar warmth of your boyfriend peaking through like a quiet promise that you were going to be okay.

"Baby, please," you whimpered for him. With a sway of your hips, you brushed your folds against his tip. Your forehead rested on his as he aligned himself with your entrance.

"Mhm," you moaned as you felt his girth splitting your pussy open. The sleek sound of your juices was louder than the pounding of your heart as you sank lower, trying your best to accommodate him. You didn’t hold back the cry of bliss just as his eyes widened with pleasure.

He grasps the back of your head pulling you in for a much-desired kiss. He moves his lips in sync with yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth just the way he knows you like it.

Brian tugged at your restraints, reminding you of his presence.

"You never learn your lesson, do you, Tim?" he scoffed.

Breaking the kiss, you rolled your eyes at his remark. You didn't even have the chance to think of a comeback, when you felt Brian's dick gliding between your ass cheeks. Tim started moving his hips lazily, thrusting into you.

"Baby, don't act so innocently, I can feel you clenching around me eagerly," Tim mocked your worried expression, hands creeping up under your shirt to cup your breasts.

Brian started stretching you, pushing his tip in and out. Tim's fingers tugged at your nipple, twisting and pinching it playfully.

"Bet you're so eager to get stuffed," Brian said resting his hands on your hips. "Be good to me now and don't hold back, I wanna hear you screaming, bitch."

Nothing could've prepared you for the stretch and fullness you experienced when Brian pushed his massive cock into your ass. You moaned, breath hitching in your throat.

"F-fuck, fuck, fuck!" you cried out loud. Brian cursed, hands digging into your sides. "Agh,"you moaned the more he filled you.

"Relax, baby, come on," Tim encouraged, one of his hands letting go of your tits to your cunt. "You can take us both," he purred as his thumb circled your clit.

"Course she can," Brian growled as he bottomed.

Your whole world got blurry, your head feeling dizzy, The feeling of being so stuffed was too much, waves of pleasure washing over you. Brian's voice echoed through the haze, edging you on.

"That's what those holes were made for, right?"

You moaned and cried, head nodding desperately before you could even register the movement. "Yes, yes, please use me!" you sobbed shamelessly.

"See, Tim? Just gotta fuck her dumb," Brian chuckled.

As tears roll down your cheeks, they don't let you think as they begin sliding in and out of you in tandem. You feel them brushing against each other through you, slick juiced coating their cocks.

The stretch is phenomenal and their hands- fuck their goddamn hands! They roam your body, grabbing at your ass and tits, pulling and squeezing every part of your body. Tim licks around your nipple, sucking it gently. This makes you moan so beautifully.

You become increasingly breathless as they both work on you.

"F-fuck," Tim whimpered his thrusts becoming desperate. "You gonna take both our loads?" The head of his dick was bullying your tightening cunt.

You whined as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. You became impossibly tight for both of them, milking them dry as your orgasm washed over you. Tim moaned as he bit down on your nipple once again, his cum filling you to the brim. Brian followed soon after, emptying his sack into your hole.

You were panting uncontrollably, your chest rising and falling with each desperate breath. Brian pulled out first, slapping your ass as a fair-well. Tim helped you get off him, but you gave out almost instantly falling to your side.

From this angle, both yourpreviously stuffed holes were visable, the sticky white cum oozing out of both your holes.

"Fucking whore," Tim finally agreed.

//Months later, part is finally here! Thank you so, so much @lucyy83 for commenting and I'm so sorry I kept you waiting for so long 😭😭 hope this lives up to your expectations!

As exams are ALMOST over (2 more to go!) I will post more often soon.

[delirious-donna]

Hiromi stood by the window; his jacket and tie were discarded by the couch, and his white shirt wrinkled and creased from the stresses of the day. It made you pause in the doorway, your steps lightening so as not to alert him to your presence.

There was no noise except for the continuous pitter-patter of the rain. It drummed against the slate roof overhead, tinkled against the windows and formed ever-growing puddles in the divets of the street below. Your umbrella had saved you from the worst of it. Head down and focused on your footsteps, you hadn’t taken any enjoyment in navigating the pools of water that were not taken care of by the drains along the road, yet right now… it felt different.

Hiromi was framed by the open window in your living room, leaning against the sill with the sleeves of his shirt rolled back to his elbows and a cigarette dangerously close to being extinguished by the droplets falling steadily to the ground. The tobacco mingled with the petrichor, muted by the earthy aroma to a more pleasant level that had you inhaling deeply as you stepped closer. Your lungs filled with the magic of nature despite being deep in suburban Tokyo, but what drew you in was him.

A white haze surrounded him, one that called out to you and spun playful tendrils around your wrists to pull you close. Perhaps it was a manifestation of what you had fallen for all those years earlier, or maybe it was simply in your head. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way your heart sped up and your body instinctively reached out for the solace that only he could provide. Hiromi was your haven, your nirvana. This may be your home but that home was truly wherever he was and you didn’t think he knew that—somehow that only made it all the more true.

Your arms encircled his waist, the cooler air brushing against your skin like a lover’s caress, and your head rested on his shoulder. Tension leaked out, his muscles relaxing and shifting until his breathing evened, and he placed a sturdy hand atop your own. For a while you both stood there; unspeaking yet baring your souls, unmoving but travelling together. The embers from his cigarette flared one last time before flickering out, spent.

“How long have you been standing here?” You asked, at last, breaking the spell of silence and hurtling you both back into the here and now.

“Hm… long enough.” His tone was light, jovial even, and you squeezed around his waist until he gave a small wriggle of protest.

“Long enough to watch your umbrella bob past. I wasn’t sure why you didn’t say something when you got home, but this is nice,” he conceded.

“I was admiring you, Hiro. Hardly a crime for a woman to admire her husband, is it?”

Hiromi snorted and turned slowly to envelop you against his chest. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, smell the fading scent of his cologne and you rubbed your nose into the stiff fabric covering his chest.

“Not one that I think would stand up in court,” he teased, his nose buried deep in your hair.

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“True, but I’ll admit that I’d much rather have you here, in my arms, where you belong… than in a courtroom. They can be awfully stuffy.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Oh ho! I’m stuffy now, am I? Well then, I guess I’ll see you in court you—you… husband ogler.”

At that, laughter bubbled up and out. Frothing and eager to fill the room with your humour. You could feel Hiromi’s body judder with the want to join in, only subdued by the bite of his lip. His warm brown eyes fixed upon you as you lifted a hand to cup his jaw and teased your fingertips over the scrape of stubble adorning his cheeks and chin.

“I’m home,” you sighed wistfully.

Hiromi smiled, leaning back to feel stray raindrops land amongst the peppering of greys in his thick black head of hair. The petrichor intensified as if heralded by your declaration, the setting sun breaking through the grey clouds to dapple your bodies in an amber glow. All was right in the world and he felt lucky to be able to say that with conviction.

“Welcome home, my love.”

an: I saw this beautiful piece of art by @kanashiki79 and they were kind enough to allow me to draw inspiration from it for the above. I guess I was in a bit of a sappy mood for Hiro today, but who could blame me?

[little-annie]

Just a little drabble inspired by @sentient-trash and this beautiful piece of artwork.

Since last night everything around him just seems a little bit brighter.

The sun, the sky, the light in Eddie's eyes when they met Steve's just this morning.

Even working at Family Video with the musty carpets, crackling speakers and Robin's constant nattering. It all seems a touch more bearable with the taste of Eddie's good morning kiss on his lips.

“You're in love? Steve, really?”

‘Yeah,’ he thinks to himself as he enters another returned tape into the system, forgetting to answer Robin completely. ‘Fucking yeah he is.’

It's just… last night was perfect. Something out of the movies. Eddie's hand in his, the feel of his calloused skin against Steve's palm. Their laughter and how it was accompanied by the gentle chitter of crickets in the grass, their melody carried away by the late night breeze.

It wasn't supposed to end up that way.

Smoke a joint. Yell at the moon. Go home.

Not dancing in the din of the moon and the stars. The lights of Eddie's van casting their shadows over the open grassy field as they swayed in each other's arms. The silhouettes of their bodies cascading over the land.

“Dingus?”

All it took was for Steve to hum the tune of Faithfully and Eddie to admit he actually liked the song, and then suddenly they were dancing. Steve was pulled from his position in the tall grass and up into Eddie's arms where they laughed and sang and eventually settled against each other until they fell quiet. And then the evening turned into something else entirely as they swayed and the grip they held on one another grew tighter.

“Do you even hear me?”

It was there in Eddie's arms, the moon as his witness, that Steve thinks he fell in love. He never wanted to leave that moment. If he could live eternity in Eddie's grasp, in some long forgotten field with the light of the moon and stars raining down on them, he would. He'd dance in fields of fireflies and live with the knowledge that even their glow was nothing compared to the fire burning in his heart. Let it scorch his soul and alight his veins only to live a few mere seconds more with Eddie's breath against his neck and arm around his waist.

He'd let the fire consume him completely to feel Eddie's lips press to his for the first time again.

“You're a lost caus-” Distantly Steve hears the ring of the front door's bell, and the beginning of Robin's bored company mandated greeting, “Welcome to family- oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie

Never has Steve's attention been grasped so fast.

He doesn't even realise he breathes the man's name out himself. Lost to the trance that's amber eyes and a striking smile.

“Light of my life!” Eddie crows happily in response, moving with an uncharacteristic sort of grace to the checkout counter Steve's still standing behind, forgotten return tape still grasped in his hand.

His knees feel a little weak as Eddie approaches, eventually leaning with an elbow on the red formica and pillowing his chin on a ring clad fist.

His eyes are just as beautiful as Steve remembers, the glow of burning embers locked away in his earth toned gaze.

They're both silent for a moment, ignoring the way Robin's fake gagging only a few feet away. But eventually Edsie speaks again, this time though, voice low enough for only Steve to hear as he asks, “You want to do that again?”

Only for every night for the rest of my life

Cheeks suddenly so much more rosy than they just were, Eddie reaches for Steve's hand and whispers, “I could live with that.”

[acourtofkindness]

When I speak of talent, I mean these three wonderful creators. Thank you so much for all your works and love you put out there, we are so lucky to have you in this fandom! Thank you so much for being you and sharing your talent with us!

Here are just a few of their stories, but I would recommend checking out all their works!

A Song of Bonds and Legacies (Azris, @mistandmemories)

New Traditions (Azris, @amarillis39) Beauty is Terror (Azris, @amarillis39)

Words We Use In the Shadows (Azris, @shadowsandlint) Long As Amber of Ember Glows (Azris, @shadowsandlint)

Again (Neris, @ysmtty) Red Ferrari (Azris, @ysmtty)

*divider by tsunami-of-tears

[goblinpuppy35]

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

(Previous Chapter) - Part 8 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

CW: 18 YEAR OLDS + ONLY: Long chapter with A LOT of smut

------------------------------------------

Remus was unable to hide his flushed cheeks and gleeful smile throughout the rest of the teaching day. His students simply assumed he was in a particularly good mood that day. The Professor religiously checked the time after every class, assessing how long he had to wait before seeing Y/N again. He could still taste the wet fabric of Y/N's pre cum stained boxers on his lips. It made the wolf inside him feral. 

Once teaching concluded for the day Remus eagerly returned to his chambers. Despite lust filling his head Remus was suddenly overwhelmed by the concern of hosting and began to quickly clean scattered books and papers off the floor and table. Then in an attempt to set the mood the Professor brought out a number of candles, placing them around the room and lighting them accordingly. Afterwards Remus lit the fire and then looked around the room satisfied, the low amber glow around him vividly reminded him of taking care of Y/N's cold body during his recovery. 

Remus attempted to preoccupied himself as he waited for Y/N by laying on the sofa half heartedly flicking through one of his books. This distraction only worked temporarily as the thought of what if Y/N would be hungry on arrival entered Remus' mind. Panickily he hurried to his small kitchen. Similar to his poison skills, his cooking abilities were extremely limited and lacking. As Remus frantically tried to figure out why the eggs he was trying to scramble were producing storm clouds of smoke from the pan, he failed to notice the latch of his door quietly opening and Y/N entering the room.

Remus was completely oblivious to Y/N's presents until the groundskeepers fingers slipped passed Remus' to take hold of the frying pan. Remus' surprise was promtly replaced with relief and then embarrassment as he let Y/N save what was left of his scrambled eggs which took on more of the apprentice of scrambled charcoal. Sitting on the candle lit floor by the fire Y/N insisted on eating the least burnt parts of Remus' disastrous meal, insisting it wasn't that bad. Remus laughed and watched Y/N, his long arm stretch across the sofa that their backs were resting against. His hand on Y/N's shoulder Remus rubbed his thumb up and down the fabric of the groundskeepers shirt tentatively. The contact between them felt so natural. 

Although both men knew exactly what they had came here for, as the night progressed the pair stayed in each other's arms talking. Y/N told Remus about his transition and how he struggled connecting to his family because of it, "They never planned to have a Muggle child, let alone a queer son" Y/N said pensively, looking into the fire. He then turned back and smiled warmly at Remus, "It's okay though, I manage" his words were genuine but Remus could still see sadness behind Y/Ns handsome eyes. Remus squeezed Y/N shoulder lovingly and pulled him in closer. 

Midnight came and went as the men talked relentlessly, as Y/N continued to tell Remus about his life the weary Professor found himself equally opening up. He told Y/N about his affliction and the toll it put on his body every month. He talked about how he often felt a great deal of guilt and shame for the way he was. With each personal secret of their lives they shared with one another their emotional bond grew as well as thier physical proximity, by the time the last fire embers extinguished themselves Y/N was curled up in-between Remus' open legs. Their hands weaved around one another like ivy up and old stone wall. Gently Remus kisses Y/Ns ear and whispered "Shall we go to bed?", looking up towards the Professor, Y/N nodded. They walked to the bedroom hand in hand. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as they watched one another start to remove their clothes. Deep conversations about everything and nothing flowed between the pair again once they were laying on their sides facing one another, just in their underwear. Y/N explained which parts of his body were still sensitive after surgery and in general how he preferred being treated in bed to not feel dysphoric. Additionally Remus told Y/N which parts of his own body where most fragile, showing which scars had healed poorly.

Both men were not sure when they'd drifted off to sleep but the comfort of being engulfed in each other's arms was too tranquil to resist. Early morning owl cries woke Y/N up from the deepest sleep he felt he'd had in a life time. The room was still completely dark. Y/N had rolled to his opposite side, with his back against Remus' front, the taller man's arms were cradling Y/N and he could feel Remus' hot exhaling breathes in the crook of his neck. Considering he was a light sleeper Y/N appreciated the fact Remus didn't snore. As Y/N wiggled his body to get my comfort he felt his back press further into Remus, who's peaceful breathing suddenly got lower. Y/N moved a little more and felt the small of his back push against Remus' crotch, he was noticeable hard and the sensation made Y/N blush. Remus' lower breathing grew into a deep growl, his body shifted and then his grip tightened around Y/N.

"I'm sorry.. did I wake you? Sorry" breathed Y/N unsuccessfully hiding how flustered and arose he was becoming, Remus pushed his body closer to his. "Don't be" Remus' voice rumbled through Y/Ns ear and made his body shake. Y/N's limbs suddenly felt limp and stupid as Remus' hand slowly pulled down Y/N's boxers and then his own. Even in the darkness Y/N could feel Remus' impressive length resting against his leg, a small wet patch at the end. Tenderly kissing Y/N's shoulder Remus positioned himself then carefully began to enter Y/N from behind. Hums passed through Y/N's pressed lips which turned to whimpers as he became overwhelmed with the sheer sensational volume his body was feeling. "Hold onto me pup" Remus' low sleep filled voice said softly, "It's alright, I've got you". These sincere words followed by blankets of kisses up his neck helped relax Y/N, his forearms gripping onto the strong arms wrapped around him, as he loosened his tense body he could feel Remus' whole cock fully inside him, it was enough to make Y/N's brain fully switch off. 

"That's my boy" Remus huffed rocking his body and guiding Y/N's to do the same "your doing so well... god You feel amazing". The room was silent except for the steady creaking of the wooden bed frame and both men's heated moans. The air was filled with privacy and intimate passion. "Y/N.. are you okay, dose it feels good for you?" Remus asked between pants feeling himself getting harder inside of the smaller man. Having seemingly lost the ability to talk Y/N took hold of one of Remus' hands and delicately pulled it down his own body, reaching his thighs he pulled apart to folds to reveal his throbbing cock tip to Remus. The Professor's breathing paused momentarily as he felt how large and stimulated Y/N's cock was. A new pleasure swept across Remus' body now he could tell how turned on Y/N was. "I ... I" Y/N was barely able to whisper while he showed Remus' fingers how to rub against his tip "I want you to make me cum AH" before Y/N finished his request Remus took to for filling it. Coating with thumb and forefinger with Y/N's precum he slowly started to rub Y/N's erection, taking note how even the slightest touch down there made Y/N's back arch . "With pleasure my love" Remus cooed before thrusting his hips harder behind Y/N.

Y/N very rarely let himself fully go in any situation, even when he was alone. Yet Remus was sending every fibre of skin he had alight. His throbbing cock ached spectacularly from Remus' meticulous touch, he knew he was going to cum soon. Remus' body was having the same reaction to Y/N and as the groundskeeper widened his leg span, giving Remus more space, his pleasure tipped over the edge. "Fuck Y/N I'm" was all Remus could announce before overflowing feelings of ecstasy escaped his body. Y/N was getting drunk feeling all of Remus' inside him. Extending his high Remus continued to pump Y/N slower but with harder thrusts, his own body starting to buck. These sharp movements were too much for Y/N "Oh Christ Remus .. I'm ..I'm. Fuck. I'm going to scream. Please stop me". Swiftly Remus lifted up his free hand and clasped it fully over Y/N's trembling mouth, pulling his head back slightly. Remus' other hand stayed on Y/N's cock as he synchronized his hip thrusts to his wrist jerk. The hand gag seemed to have the opposite affect on Y/N for each muffled moan came quicker after the others and became more desperate. Even though his own high was fading Remus was loving this display and pure lust and with each moan from Y/N he tighter his grip over his mouth and tilted his head back further. Suddenly Y/N's body stopped squirming, become unbelievably still and tense as he let out a muffled moan which sounded as if he was crying. His body arched and then rubbed against Remus' fingers enthusiastically, at which point Remus felt warm cum over his fingers. He waited until Y/N had finished rocking and then withdraw his fingers to his open mouth, licking around his knuckles he devoured Y/N's taste. "You taste beautiful" Remus whispered causing Y/N to shake and twitch now Remus had pulled out. Y/N shock so hard he made the mattress quiver so Remus sitting up, scoped Y/N in between his legs and pulled the blankets up to wrapped around both their shoulders. Shushing and petting the younger man's Y/H/C hair Remus kissed his warm cheeks "You were perfect Y/N". 

"Some .. Sometimes I get .. I .. very non verbal after.. af" Y/N jittered through his wobbling lip. Caressing Y/Ns hand Remus kissed it gently, "That's okay" He reassured, "as long as you are okay?". Y/N smiled and nodded, snuggling into Remus cosy embrace. After a moment of peaceful recovery Remus asked "Shall we both get cleaned up and then go back to bed?". Y/N nodded again and was about to gingerly make his way off the bed but gasped in surprise as his weight lifted off the sheets. Supported by Remus' arms the Professor carried Y/N to the bathroom, switching the light on with his elbow. Both men couldn't stop bashfully smiling at each other. 

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard

*COD medieval au - Simon Riley x reader

cw: arranged marriage, dark themes, attempted sa & non-graphic sa but pls *read at your own discretion*, gore/violence, sexual themes, etc.

word count: 1.1k

“Again.”

You can’t help but to flinch at the sound of swords being drawn; it rings in your ears, echos in the recesses of your brain. The piercing, metallic clangs resound throughout the room-

How long had you been here, anyway? Judging from the sunlight that peers through the high transom windows, its golden rays giving the great hall an ethereal sort of glow, it must be nearing time for dinner-

“I’ve seen enough, thank you.”

With a dismissive wave, you rise from the bronze throne and turn on your heel, eyes focused straight ahead, fixated on the intricate carvings in the doors, your escape just within reach-

“Your Grace..”

General Leon’s voice is laced with exasperation and warning, and your long history with him is the only reason you halt, your handmaid nearly bumping into you as you turn again- the young woman struggling to rearrange the ridiculous train on your gown as the man speaks,

“You cannot continue on without a Queen’s Guard- His Grace demands the position be filled.”

Oh, of course. How thoughtful of your kind husband. The husband who only sees you when the physicians deem you fertile enough to produce an heir. The husband who you’re not even sure could pick your face in a crowd because he only ever fucks you from behind, your face pushed down into the animal furs beneath you.

The husband who killed your last guard, gods rest his soul.

Yes, I’m sure he’s very concerned for my safety..

You give a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you feel the placating smile tug at your lips; the one you’re so, so good at. The practiced smile that puts everyone in the room at ease, the one you’ve perfected in your relatively short existence of being groomed for this very life.

The life everyone dreams of, a life of royalty, of the highest privilege and power- how little they truly know.

“Of course, please, let us meet the next one then.”

Taking your place upon the throne once again, you sit properly, prim and demure, just like you were taught. The very picture of perfection in your emerald colored silks, not a single hair out of place-

Yet, inside, you were wasting away, your thoughts boiling and raging, your anger smoldering just under the surface, like a vein of coal in the earth that’s been lit aflame- the embers never dying, but never able to turn into the inferno they so wishe to be.

You don’t bother to spare your gaze when the doors open with a low groan, the quiet footfalls that enter the space only really given away by the shifting of chainmail and armor.

They’re confident strides, you notice- long and steady, and without even seeing him yet, you can feel the energy shift around you, his presence seeming to fill every available void,

“Ser Simon Riley, Your Grace.”

With one look, you’re utterly struck by the imposing man walking towards you- shoulders and hips swaying with each deliberate step, left hand resting lazily on the hilt of his long-sword.

His armor plates are dark, obsidian in hue, so different from the usual flashy silver you see everywhere you look. He is a looming shadow in front of you, somehow as wide as he is tall, if that were possible- and his eyes. The skin around them have been smudged with kohl, making the mottled amber of his irises look preternatural, his unmoving gaze entirely focused on you, even when he bows,

“Your Majesty.”

Your mind screams danger, much like it would if a fully grown wolf had just sauntered through the doors, looking for its next meal- and yet, for as much fear as he inspires, there’s something that draws you in- like a siren singing to sailors lost at sea.

Returning his gesture, you gently nod, holding his eyes until the General calls him back to assume a fighting stance; and even then, you swear you see his head tilt just so, just enough to flash you an arrogant look as the guard takes his place across from him. Ser Simon must easily stand a head and a half taller than the other man, you think, his figure even more impressive than it was before.

The men exchange nods before drawing swords, their dance beginning the same as all the others, assessing and calculating each other until the guard makes the first move-

The heavy whoosh of his blade is dodged with little effort, the giant wraith of a man moving far faster than any of you expected. He gracefully ducks under the other’s still outstretched arm, placing himself in the perfect position to swing his own sword towards his opponent's exposed neck- a maneuver surely meant to behead if this were anything other than a mock duel.

“Reset-”

“No.” You stand abruptly, stepping down from the throne much to your own surprise, “Ser Simon, what experience do you have as a Royal Guard?”

“Your Grace, this is-”

With a raised hand, you quiet the General, watching the mysterious knight sheath his sword once more, bowing again as he faces you,

“None, Your Majesty.”

Well, at least he’s honest.

“What experience do you have then?”

His head tilts to the side, and you watch the other guards tense when he takes a single step closer, those damned eyes gleaming down at you with a hunger you’ve never quite seen before,

“Battle, Your Grace. I’ve seen far more than most.”

This time, it’s you moving towards him, and when you step closer, the Kingsguard follows suit, though it seems nothing goes unnoticed by the towering specter.

“Well, Ser, I do not go into battle.. You might be better suited for my husband’s army, no?”

You watch the very corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, his gaze narrowing in amusement, and you’re positive you would see a devilish smile on his lips if he removed the helmet,

“I might.” He says flippantly, broad shoulders shrugging as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “But, I came here to serve you, My Queen.”

A deep and burning chill blooms in your core at his words and the resolute way he says them; it lights every nerve on fire, every cell and molecule, every atom in your being vibrating at a frequency you’ve never felt as the title rolls off his gilded tongue.

No, you’ve never met a man quite like this, and part of you questions if he truly is just a man at all- because no man has ever felt like this, no man has ever been able to pick you apart so quickly, make you feel bare with just his gaze alone.

He terrifies you as much as he excites you, and oh, how you’ve longed to feel something other than loathing, and boredom.

There is nothing practiced or placating about the smirk on your lips now as you nod toward your General, your handmaid once again adjusting the cumbersome fabric of your gown as you move forward-

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish, Ser Simon.” You coo as you breeze past him without a parting glance, “General Leon, make sure my guard is taken to his new quarters, will you?”

They fall into a sweeping bow as you exit, a quiet acknowledgement being the last thing you hear before the deep pulsing of your own heartbeat fills your ears.

What in the seven hells have I done..

[chapter 2 >>>]

[xi4oyan]

Edelweiss is the whisper of the mountains, a promise of love that defies the cold and the heights. They say only the most devoted hearts dare to climb the cliffs to claim it, for love, like this flower, demands courage and sacrifice. Small and rare, yet strong enough to bloom where nothing else dares to live, it is a symbol of love unyielding to time, of devotion that braves even the harshest winds.

The wind blew softly over the wheat fields, whispering secrets to the golden stalks that bowed in reverence to autumn. The sky, vast and blue like an untouched dream, embraced the distant mountains where the world seemed to touch the divine. The village, with its simple rooftops and dirt paths, breathed in harmony with time, its wooden houses wrapped in the fragrance of warm bread and incense burning at the altars. 

And there, between the humble and the eternal, she lived. 

Her days were woven with simple gestures—gathering fruit from the orchards, grinding grains under the gentle morning light, washing her feet in the crystal-clear stream. Her happiness was not bound to gold or silk but to the small joys that embroidered her life: the sweet taste of freshly harvested honey, the laughter of a child running through the fields, the amber glow of the sun setting behind the hills. 

He watched her from afar. 

Sun Wukong.

The great Monkey King, whose name echoed in legends. The immortal who had defied heaven, broken chains, and made the gods tremble. But there, hidden among the shadows of the trees, he was neither a king nor a warrior nor a rebel. Just a silent traveler, wearing a weathered crimson cloak, his eyes burning like embers at dusk, following the trail of her existence with a curiosity that grew day by day. 

He saw her when the little monkeys from the mountains came down to her home—curious, mischievous, carrying the same playful spirit as Wukong himself. They rummaged through her baskets of fruit, leaped onto her rooftops, scattered grains across the ground—yet instead of scolding them, she laughed. 

Laughed with a sweetness that made the wind shudder. 

With delicate hands, she picked up the fallen fruit and offered it to the little troublemakers, without hesitation, without fear. She stroked their soft fur, murmured gentle words, and when one of the younglings climbed onto her shoulder, she spun with him in her arms, laughing as if she were holding summer itself. 

That night, when she closed the wooden door of her home, she found a golden peach resting on her windowsill. 

A silent offering. 

She picked up the fruit with the tips of her fingers, studying it under the lantern's glow. Peaches of that golden hue did not grow in the village orchards. They came from the mountains. From lands where no one else dared to harvest.

And, in the shadow of the grove, a pair of amber eyes watched, waiting for her reaction. 

She smiled. And bit into the peach.

— 

Then came the village festival.

When the torches were lit and the drums began to echo through the central square, he saw her dance. 

Her simple linen dress twirled like a petal in the wind, her bare feet glided over the packed earth, and every movement was a silent prayer to time itself. She danced without pretense, without effort, as if the world existed only for that moment. 

And for the first time, he did not just watch. 

He stepped closer.

Before she noticed, a hand extended before her. 

A hand with long fingers, marked by time, yet carrying a touch of something she could not name. 

When she lifted her gaze, she found a face not from the village. 

There was something untamed about him—like a storm that could not be held, like the mountain wind that wandered where it pleased. His golden hair was unruly, his eyes shone with a hint of mischief, and his clothing... ah, his clothing. The crimson cloak, the brocade belt, the worn boots of someone who had walked through kingdoms and temples alike.

He smiled. 

"You dance as if you're speaking to the gods." 

She blinked, surprised, before laughing. 

"And you speak as if you were one of them." 

Wukong tilted his head, amused. 

"Perhaps I am." 

"Then why ask a peasant for a dance?" 

"Because even the gods like to hear the laughter of those who belong to the earth." 

She hesitated, but only for a moment. 

And when she took his hand, the world around them seemed to slow.

He led her through the village dance, their movements flowing like the riverbed. Every turn was a promise, every touch a conversation without words. And when the music softened, when the other pairs began to drift apart, they remained there, their eyes still locked onto each other. 

That was when he realized. 

He had held weapons forged in divine fire, had touched the heavens and faced the chains of the underworld. But he had never held something so delicate.

That night, when the festival ended, a golden peach appeared on her windowsill once more. But this time, there was something else beside it. 

A single flower. 

Edelweiss.

— 

The next morning, when she stepped outside to feed the little monkeys, Wukong was there. 

No disguises, no shadows, no distance. 

She stopped before him, holding the flower between her fingers. 

"This flower" he murmured, his voice deep and almost hesitant "doesn't grow in easy fields. It survives where no other can. Where the wind punishes, where the snow suffocates, where only the stubborn bloom." 

She looked at him, and for the first time, he had no witty remark to offer.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she tucked the edelweiss into her hair, just above her ear.

Wukong blinked, surprised. 

"So, you accept?" 

Her smile came like a breeze sweeping through the wheat fields. 

"If it was you who picked it" she murmured, a touch of mischief in her voice "then perhaps... I accept you as well." 

The wind danced through the fields, and between a king and a peasant, between an immortal and one who belonged to the earth, eternity bloomed.

[druidwolf21]

As per the votes, here's some loving smut with everyone's fav space viking!

Leman Russ/F reader

Content warning-

sexual content

A bit of fluff

Homesickness

Saying I love you during sexy time???

@moodymisty @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @lemon-russ @beckyninja @jaghatai-khock

Hope you like some sexy lovins

Words and meanings

Skitja- fenrisian curse

Volda Hamarrki- the mountain range of fenris

Skitnah-dirty/foul

Aett- clan hols/ heath fenrisian name for the fang

Stormurstjórn- stormcaller (I used this as a little pet name

Skíthof- another fenrisian curse

Gmorl-fate

The fire roared and blazed, spitting sparking embers across the marbled guard as you stared listlessly into the light. The book you had been reading hung limply from your hand as your eyes followed motes of flames dancing from one cindered log to another as it's warmth gently toasted your skin.

You allowed your eyes to wander from the embers to the room you sat in. Cold steel walls rising high above you, dispersed with woven tapestries of great battles and flickering oil torches. You sighed wistfully as your sight fell on a painting of a forest, trees frosted with diamond snow and silvered icicles, shadowy wolven figures dancing through the wood with amber eyes that seemed to glow.

You fisted the furs on the bed you had perched on as you threw the book aside and fell backwards, staring at the canopy above you, willing it to turn from soft cotton into the grey fenrisian sky. Squeezing your eyes shut and inhaling, you could almost smell the frozen sap, warm mjord and smelting iron that hung perpetually through the halls of the fang.

But home was a long way away and no matter how hard you willed it, upon opening your eyes, the dream of Asaheim faded into the distance. Your memory of warm meals and warmer company left a bitter taste in your mouth as you swept a hand across your face. Your thoughts were dragged back into the present by a wet nose against your thigh and a quiet whine.

Resigning yourself to your current situation, you drag yourself upright, smiling gently as you come face to face with golden eyes and a maw of teeth as long as Eldari daggers. Thick lines of spit coated each fang as the beast breathed heavily in your face before letting out another low whine.

You snorted and place a hand on the wolf's snout, playfully pushing it away.

""Skítja, fenki!" You curse "what have you been eating, your breath is worse than...well I don't know, but it's bad!"

You recoiled as your question got you a long, hot lick from your bare ankle to the top of your thigh. You hopped off the bed and rushed to an oaken dressing table, ripping a towel from a drawer and dragging it along your leg.

"you are so gross" you laugh lightly, dropping the towel and walking back over, pressing your face into warm fur and inhaling deeply.

"I guess you miss home too, huh?"

You nuzzled in deeper, wrapping your arms around the giant canine as far as you could, twisting your fingers through coarse fur and feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of it's chest.

"I promise, as soon as we can, we'll take you back home, back to Volda Hamarrki. Me, you, Russ and Geri, does that sound good?" You whispered, trying to stem tears before they fell

"we'll go back, away from this Skitnah ship, feel the snow under our feet again"

The tears flowed freely as you buried your face, gritting your teeth, willing them to stop as you fought to push the home sickness from your thoughts.

"Making plans for me, my little Stormurstjórn?"

You spun round, hair whipping around as you turned to face the owner of the deep voice that thrummed through you.

Lemans grin faltered as he saw your face, wet with tears, he threw down his thick cloak as he rushed over, dropping to a knee and cupping your face gently.

"my heart, what happened? why do you cry?" His face darkens and a snarl starts forming on his face, his hands and eyes gliding over you "did someone hurt you? If someone touched you I'll.."

You shake your head gently, looking into lemans icy blue eyes and smiling shyly.

"no my lord, I'm fine, just wishing for the comforts of home"

You see the tension leave your primarks body as he leans back slightly and your heart fluttered as his easy smile found his face again. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before pressing his forehead against yours.

"The Aett may be far, but you are here and that is home enough for me" he murmured, his voice as thick and sweet as honey mjord as he brushed the tears from your face.

You pulled away and pressed your hands to his cheeks, admiring the way the dying embers cast a warm glow across his face and down his neck. His eyes shone, almost reflective as the light flittered and sputtered.

A thick golden braid had fallen over his shoulder and You leant back in, running the hair through your fingers before pressed a kiss against his lips. His arms wrapped around you and you felt like you were melting into him as he returned your touch, running his tongue along your lips, deepening the kiss.

You gasped as a callused hand found your ass, snaking beneath the metal blue dress you were wearing. Leman took advantage of your shock, pushing is tongue into your mouth and tasting you, his other hand locked in your hair. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sucked his tongue, tasting mjord and smoke, earning a growl in return.

You separated and leman admired the mess you had become already, lips pink and cheeks flushed.

"I can give you a taste of home, if you miss it so much" he smirked, running his tongue along his fangs.

You rolled your eyes and grinned, before leaning back in for another kiss.

Russ took this as an open invite and swept you in his arms, dropping you on the bed and slowly slid your dress off your shoulders, peppering kisses and bites marks down your neck and shoulders as he swept the garment from under you and tossed it to the floor. His hand gripped your waist and ran down your thighs as he took a perk nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue around it, he grinned again, lifting himself from your breast to look at you.

Your eyes were slightly glazed as your chest rose and fell, looking at your lover with doe eyes.

He returned his gaze to your body, trailing his tongue down your stomach before reaching where you wanted.

He lifted your thighs higher as he dove in, licking and sucking on your pussy like a starving man. You gasped and instinctively locked your fingers in his hair.

His tongue felt rough but throne did he know what he what he was doing

Your moaned his name, hips jerking fruitlessly as he held you down, his eyes locked on your face as you came, your hands tightening in his hair as your orgasm rocked through you.

Leman rose, licking away your taste from his lips as he looked down at his work, you lay, flushed and gasping on the warm fur across the bed.

Just the way he liked it

He quickly made light work of his own clothes, throwing them into their own heap next to yours

Your eyes grazed over his body as he stalked towards you, trailing down his broad, scarred chest, following the line of his abs and the trail of hair, lower and lower...

Leman, climbed over you, his braids tickling your skin as he gently gripped one of your hands, locking it next to your head and gazing down at you. You felt your cheeks flush at the intensity of his eyes. The concern, care and feral arousal in his stare raised a heat in your core.

"my little queen" he whispered in your ear, as he slowly slid inside you, inch by inch filing you. You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to your limit, his dick reaching deep inside you as your back arched, pressing your breasts into his chest. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and slowly withdrew, before sliding back inside you, over and over.

"I'll fuck all the sadness right out of you"

You moan his name as he ground into you, one hand still gripping yours as the other held your thigh up, fucking you deeper than you could imagine. His dick touched every part of you as he filled you, over and over. The knot in you stomach getting tighter and tighter...

"L..leman right there!" You mutter into his ear, biting at his lobe "p please"

"Skíthof" he cursed as he felt you tighten around him, "so tight for me" your muscles fluttering around his cock as he drove deeper into you as you came.

Yes, scream my name, you belong to me, my sweet, my heart

You panted as you finished, wrestling your hand free, you gripped around his neck and looked deeply into his eyes.

"I love you, leman" you sighed, biting you lip as the feel of his driving into you, the sound of his breath and skin on skin and the heat from his body drove you towards another peak. "I love you, my wolf"

A brief look of shock passed across Russ's face, his movements became erratic and he growled and dropped his head to your shoulder as you felt him finish, feeling his cum fill you up as he jerked into you, pushing it deep inside your pussy and biting your shoulder, marking you as you cried out, finishing with him.

You stayed like that, wrapped under the body of your lord, his face pressed into the crook of your neck and your arms around him, his dick still wreathed inside you as his cum slowly leaked out.

The reality of your words set in

I love you leman...

The sweet comfort of your afterglow vanished and you blushed furiously.

"did I seriously say that for the first time DURING SEX?!" You screamed internally

Finally, you felt your partner moved, slowly raising off you, his locks tickling across your breasts sending goosebumps across your bare skin as he looked down at you wordlessly, the blue galciers of his eyes looking down at you, almost searching.

"mmm my lord I.." you stutter, trying to find the right words.

He silenced you with a firm kiss, grinning that stupid sexy grin. But despite the smug smile creeping across his features, his face was soft and he met your confused look.

"And I you, my Gmorl"

You lay in shock for a moment, your brain twisting at what was happening as leman pulled away from you and stretched, looking over his shoulder at you. You sat, bolting upright.

"I.. you..."

He smirked at you over his shoulder before rising to his feet and throwing your dress at you.

"come then, sweet one, do you still wish to see fenris again?"

He loved the way your eyes sparkled and you jumped off the bed towards him, clutching your wrinkled dress to your chest.

"really?? We're going home?" You laughed and spun and leman felt his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

He shook his head and bared his fangs in a wide love sick smile

"anything for you, my little love"

[arcielee]

Taste of It

Summary: Modern!FemaleReader has a delightful sex dream. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Word Count: 2406 Warnings: Smutty smut, fingering, choking, language, p in v. Author's Note: Hey, this is my first Reader fanfic I have ever written. I am open to all criticism, because it will help me be a better writer and is definitely not a degradation kink. This was inspired by the story you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me) by @themotherofhorses​. I just loved the idea of a lucid dream with Aemond Targaryen. ♥ Thank you @f4ll-for-you​ for being so kind to read this over! Series:  Call It Dreaming 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is low, lethal, and somehow familiar to you, despite the unfamiliar setting you find yourself in. Your hands wash over your body, feeling your favorite oversized shirt, an old David Bowie print that was comfortable with age and just long enough to cover your ass, with the hem touching the peaks of your bare thighs. There is a coldness to your surroundings, which was all the more apparent on your bare feet and the skimpy, cotton underwear you wore beneath your nightshirt. 

You remembered being cozy on your couch after a long, hot shower that peeled away the stress accumulated from both work and schoolwork, partnered with a mask to exfoliate your pores. You remembered the scent of your new lotion, a mixture of vanilla and brown sugar, while you admired the reflection of the black underwear and matching bralette on your figure before you decided to put on the oversized vintage top before you crawled beneath your blanket to rewatch House of the Dragon. 

“I asked you a question,” his voice repeated, his tone sharp. You could hear the sound of a book snapping shut that caused you to jump and turn on your heel. Your eyes flit over your new surroundings; you were in a room with tapers lit that added to the warm, amber glow emitting from the hearth and its embers, highlighting the meticulous placement of furniture and its grim vibe.

You nearly choke on your heart when your eyes finally find who the voice, the one that was both low and lethal, belongs to. 

Aemond Targaryen was seated in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand holding a closed book by its spine and his brows knitted above his gaze, one lavender eye and one sapphire eye, focused on you with a look of sheer annoyance. 

You could scarcely react when he pushed himself from his seat, his long legs allowing long strides to cover the distance of the room, and you could feel the heat from his body as he pinned your back against the door. His large palm was on your neck and he slowly squeezed the sides.  

You can still breathe, but your vision begins to fog and he pushes closer, his nose pressed against the side of your head with the hot whisper repeating his question, “Who are you?” 

This is a dream, your mind rationalizes. A sexy dream you guess from the heat that pools in your lower abdomen and melds with the heat that exudes from the prince. His scent is intoxicating; he smelled clean, mixed with a woodsy musk and the hint of smoke. It was a dream, you decide, and gods be damned if you would not utilize this subconscious interaction. 

“I have been sent for your pleasure,” you finally manage to say, your mind spinning from the lack of blood.  

Your words release his grasp, but his hand remains rested on your collarbones. “Another one of my brother’s whores?” He asks with the curl of his lips. Perhaps he tried to sound annoyed, but you hoped instead for him to be intrigued since your modern garb was hardly the fashion of the Streets of Silk. “You may show me what you have to offer and I will make my decision.” 

This is promising, you smile at him. Aemond takes a step back but you note he remains within arm’s reach, thinking you may try to flee but he is completely unaware you have no intention to leave this room. With slow breaths as your vision clears, your fingers reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it overhead, dropping it at your feet to show him your black cotton bralette and matching cheeky underwear. 

You watch his eye roll over you, pupil dilated, from your head to your polished toes and back again. You hold your breath and only relax when you hear his hum of satisfaction. 

Aemond moved to grab you, perhaps he meant to drag you, but you are quick and willing to follow his direction towards the bed, gleeful when you feel his large hands rest on your hips and bring you around to push you back against the mattress. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him bending at his slender waist, his arms caging you and the curtain of silver hair spilling on both sides. His head tilts slightly to peer at you and you stare back with blatant admiration of the sharp angles of his jawline, the gleam of his sapphire eye that you did not notice the dagger he held until the glint of the blade caught your attention. 

Your breath holds as he presses the dagger flat beneath the front of your bralette and it hitches in your throat with his fluid motion to twist the blade and bring it upwards, tearing the fabric. 

“Hey!” You gasp, pressing up to your elbows to face him as he falls back a step, holding the torn fabric in one hand and sheathing his blade, all while admiring the natural slope of your breasts. You feel a slight burn and look down to see a red line and beads of blood forming from the sliver. 

“I only wished to see if you were real,” his words were not an apology, but more an explanation. 

You push to sit upright, your hand grabbing his own to bring his palm to your breast. “I assure, I am very real,” your eyes are glassy with your bold words and actions, but it works and he moves to press on top of you. You fall back and mold against the mattress, his tongue burns as it trails the cut and there is the smear of blood as his mouth moves to find your nipple. 

Your back arches in response from the touch of his tongue that flits over the peak of your nipple and rolling circles around your areola. His hot mouth closes, suckling and his teeth nipping the soft flesh of your breast before he moves to give equal attention towards the other. 

A soft moan spills from your lips and he moves to capture your mouth with his own. His tongue presses to explore your mouth and you welcome the softness of his lips and the copper taste of your own blood. Your hands move to comb your fingers through his silk locks, your nails scratching his scalp and you feel the vibration of his hum of approval. 

Aemond presses closer and you can feel his hardness, his hips rolling to rub against your cloth cunt. He grabs onto your hip with one hand, large and warm to the touch, and his other moves flat against your chest; his tongue slows with languid movements, relishing your taste before he breaks away. 

“You taste like a sweet wine, but with chocolate and mint?” His brow quirks with his question. 

Ben and Jerry’s, you think to yourself but he does not need an answer, instead bringing his lips to bruise against your own and his fingers trailing lower to cup your cunt. He seems pleased with how you are drenched with your anticipation, pressing his lips against your throat with the growl of, “Sīr lōz syt aōha dārilaros.” 

So wet for your prince.

You burn with how his tongue rolls the words. Gods be praised, you think when you recognize the words that made your core ache, your annoyance for the Duolingo notifications vanish and you respond with a breathless, “Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros.”

His brow raises in response and his look makes your heat roll over your body. “You also know High Valyrian,” he says and, again,  it was more a statement than a question. 

“Mērī mirrī,” Only a little, you admit to him, the heat flushing your face from his brazen stare. You chew your bottom lip as you bring your feet to the edge of the bed and lift your hips, peeling off your underwear. 

You note the curl of his lips and he moves to mold against you again, his teeth grazing the pulse of your pounding heart. His touch is gentle, his fingers just grazing your hip bone and moving towards your center, his slender finger trailing your soaked slit before it curled inside of you. 

You cannot help but mewl his name as he adds another, moving to massage your walls, his palm cupping you and allowing his thumb to stimulate your clit. The warmth in your lower core begins to boil with his ministrations and your breathing grows erratic, which quickens his motion.

“Jurnegon nyke,” he commands, Look at me, and you bring your eyes forward to see him leaning over and bracing himself above you with his free arm. “I want to hear you,” he breathes.

His breath, his words partnered with the sinful curl of his fingers within you allows your orgasm to crash into you, drawing the air from your lungs with your pitiful cries of release. Your skin is aflame and you had not noticed he pulled away until you heard him cleaning his fingers with his mouth, standing over you, the bulge of his breeches unmistakable.  

The sight of him cleaning his slender fingers emboldens you to grab his waistband and bring him against you, desperate to taste yourself on his soft lips. The grace of your tongue is not matched with your hands that fumble with the latches of his tunic, but you feel his smile as his hands guide your own. You peel his layers off to reveal his hard chest with faded scars of silver that decorated the rivets of his toned abdomen, the moonlight mixed with the low flames giving the prince an ethereal glow to his lithe body. 

Aemond gives a hum to claim your attention, his lips curling as he is adamantly aware of the hunger in your eyes, and his hands reach to grasp the peaks of your thighs and pull you closer to the bed edge. You push yourself to your elbows and watch rapt as he unlaces to remove his trousers, curious to see if the Tumblr assertion of his genitalia was accurate, but his hand pushes you back against the bed and trails to your neck. 

“Open,” he commands and your mouth relaxes, your tongue pink and drowning in saliva from seeing him almost bare. 

He presses two fingers into your mouth and you close to suckle, tasting the remnants of your release and his own saliva from his clean up. You coat them and there is a string of spittle that follows when he pulls away, eventually breaking and wetting your chin. 

His hands move to lube his cock and you feel the press against your cunt, the undeniable stretch as he pushes into you. Your hands grasp at the bedding on each side and your back arches as he pushes to split you in half. “You take me so well,” he soothes, but does not allow you time to adjust and presses further still. 

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” you gasp at the mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Aemond pauses for a moment, reaching to clasp your jaw and bring your eyes to look at him, “I intend to.” 

You shudder when he bottoms out in you and his hands move to clasp onto your hips, pulling you to meet his each thrust, his hip bones digging into the underside softness of your thighs and his cock reaching into you further still. Your hands move to grab above you, twisting into the sheets, and you arch your back into each powerful thrust.

His pace pauses for a moment, his hands wrapping around your ankles and bringing your feet to rest onto his shoulders, canting your hips to angle you as he slips back into your warmth. Your heart flutters when his hands return to your hip bones, admiring his side profile and the scrunch of his brow. “Your toes… is that glitter?”

“Kostilus, ñuha dārilaros,” Please, my prince, you cannot help but whine. You are on the cusp of your second release and the fear of waking up looms over you. “I must have you.” 

The High Valyrian renews his attention, as you hope it would, and he pushes to fold you in half, the new angle allowing him to slip into your cunt deeper than before. His arms hold himself on each side, caging you in, and his soft, silver tresses spill onto your bare chest with a tickle. You moan in abandon from the stretch of him reentering you as his hips rut against you. 

It rolls in waves, gooseflesh rippling over every inch of your body and your nipples taut from the pleasure, clenching at his cock. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes as you repeat his name, “Aemond, Aemond-”

His thrusts become sloppy and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you; you open your legs to allow him to fall forward against you, a damp brow to your own. You steady your breath, savoring the mixture of his scent combined with the scent of sex, wanting to savor your unconscious a moment longer. Your sex dreams never ended so satisfactory before and you knew it would not be much longer. You bring your hand to his defined jawline to tilt his head up, bringing your lips to his with a slow, lingering kiss. 

But you do not wake up, instead Aemond drags you beneath the covers and pulls you flush against his chest, which is hard and warm and molds perfectly with the softness of your backside in the most delicious way. 

“You may leave me in the morning,” he murmurs in your ear as he nuzzles into the back of your neck and hair. 

When you wake up, you are back on your couch and nestled beneath your blanket, the menu music of House of the Dragon playing on repeat from your television. Warmth envelopes you as you remember the vivid dream you had and you push to sit upright. 

I will always fall asleep with you on, but your thoughts are cut short from the cold that touches your bare chest. Your hands wash over your body, naked, and you wince when your finger touches the gash in between your breasts. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief.

Where the fuck was your Bowie shirt. 

[captain-styr]

Styr | ROEVEMBER DAY 4 | Ship

So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame Long as amber of ember glows All the "would that I'd loved" is long ago ♫

Styr touching his two loves, under the stars in La Noscea.

I will never get tired of these two, I love them so much.

sigh

Featuring @the-white-snake's Lia Amelune! <3

[jimsbeetroot]

In spirit of the holidays could you write a fluffy smut with either Jim or Joey (both works too) please, I love your work and you are one of my favorite writers I hope you have a wonderful day! 😁

sorry for the delay!!

snowbound ♱ jim root

warnings! smut!

Snow clings to the windowpane in thick, feathery clusters, illuminated by the warm glow of the streetlights. Inside, the air is thick with heat, the scent of pine, whiskey, and the lingering burn of a fireplace filling the room. The only sound—besides the occasional crackle of a log shifting in the embers—is the low murmur of a bluesy holiday record spinning on the turntable.

Jim leans back on the couch, one long arm draped lazily across the backrest. His whiskey glass is half-full, the amber liquid catching the flickering light. He watches you with an easy smirk, all lazy indulgence, like he’s got nowhere to be but here, doing exactly this—watching you curled up beside him in one of his old tour hoodies, the fabric oversized and swallowing you whole.

“You look ridiculous in that,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough around the edges.

You scoff. “Says the guy in reindeer socks.”

Jim glances down at his feet—black socks with tiny, cartoonish reindeer scattered across the fabric. He huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “Corey stuffed them in my stocking last year. Bastard knew I’d wear ‘em.”

You grin, shifting closer until your knee presses against his thigh. “They’re cute.”

He raises a brow, smirk deepening. “You got a thing for reindeer now?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe just the ones that play guitar.”

Jim chuckles, setting his whiskey aside before tugging you into his lap without warning. You yelp, hands bracing against his chest, but he’s already settling you against him, one arm banded firmly around your waist. His other hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw before he tilts your face toward his.

“Yeah?” His voice is low, teasing. “You wanna sit here and talk about socks, or do you wanna let me do what I’ve been thinking about all night?”

Your pulse kicks, heat curling in your belly. “And what’s that?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway. His mouth finds yours, slow at first, teasing, the scrape of his beard against your skin just enough to make you shiver. He tastes like whiskey and something darker, something entirely him. His hand slips beneath the hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin at your lower back, sending sparks up your spine.

You sigh against his lips, rolling your hips just enough to feel the hard press of him beneath you. Jim groans softly, grip tightening. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is all gravel, rough and wanting. “You keep that up, and we’re not making it to the bedroom.”

The idea of him taking you right here, in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, is almost enough to make you keep going—but there’s something about the idea of being tangled up with him under the warm covers, the winter night pressing against the windows, that makes you want to draw this out.

You grin, nipping at his bottom lip before sliding off his lap. “Then maybe we should move.”

Jim groans but follows without hesitation, his large hands gripping your hips as he guides you toward the bedroom. The moment you step inside, he’s on you again—lips insistent, hands greedy as he pushes the hoodie up and over your head, leaving you bare beneath him.

His breath catches. “Jesus.” His hands roam, slow and reverent, over the newly exposed skin, thumbs brushing over your nipples before he cups your breasts, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers. You whimper, arching into his touch, and he groans, dipping his head to capture one in his mouth. His tongue is hot, wet, teasing, his teeth grazing just enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight to your core.

“Jim,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his curls.

He hums against your skin before pulling back, blue eyes dark with need. “Lie back for me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sinking into the mattress, and Jim follows, settling between your thighs. He makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before pressing his body against yours, skin on skin, heat and want.

His fingers trail lower, teasing over your stomach before slipping between your legs. He groans when he finds you wet, slick and ready for him. “Fuck, baby. That all for me?”

You whimper, hips canting into his touch. “Jim, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg. Two long fingers slip inside, curling just right, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. His mouth follows, lips and tongue teasing over your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast, until your back is arching and your breath is coming in short, desperate gasps.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another finger inside, stretching you just enough to make you moan. “So wet, so fucking tight. You gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, yes.”

Jim curses under his breath before pulling back just enough to shed the rest of his clothes. The sight of him—long and hard, the flush of arousal dark against his pale skin—sends a fresh wave of heat crashing over you.

He doesn’t waste time. He kneels between your thighs, gripping them as he lines himself up, teasing the head of his cock against your entrance before pushing inside, slow and deliberate, stretching you inch by inch.

You gasp, nails raking down his back as he fills you completely. Jim groans, dropping his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “Fuck. You feel so goddamn good.”

He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, but when you roll your hips—silently begging for more—he gives it to you.

His thrusts are slow at first, deep and measured, drawing out every bit of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. But soon, the restraint starts to crack. His hands grip your hips tighter, his pace quickening, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“You take me so fucking well,” he growls, voice rough, eyes locked on yours. “God, you’re perfect.”

You moan his name, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even deeper. The pressure builds, white-hot and all-consuming, and Jim feels it, feels you clenching around him, your breath coming in short, broken gasps.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you shatter, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Jim groans at the feeling, his pace faltering, his body tensing before he follows you over the edge, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural moan.

For a long moment, the only sound is the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the distant crackle of the fireplace in the other room. Jim presses a slow, lingering kiss to your temple before rolling onto his side, pulling you with him.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed by exhaustion.

You nod, curling into his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “More than okay.”

Jim chuckles, pressing another kiss to your hair. “Merry fucking Christmas, baby.”

You grin, pressing a sleepy kiss to his collarbone. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

And outside, the snow keeps falling, but in here, wrapped in Jim’s warmth, the night is nothing but heat.