#lust for comfort

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.

Khalil Gibran

[mblue-art]

angy

[hhhhleb]

*you seem tired these days.

[that-butch-archivist]

Making a birthday cake for a friend tonight (something I haven't done for a while), and I forgot how much I love baking & cake decorating. I'll post pics when I'm done, I'm very excited. 🥰

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

Epilogue imagine/outline

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

This has been a fill for:

@steverogersbingo

Card: #sb3088 - stark-contrast

Square D2: "I've always wanted to do that"

@allcapsbingo

Card: sarahyellow AC1105

Square: FREE SPACE (wedding night)

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square N4: daddy kink

[some-buffoon]

DTIYS for @wickjump !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I dont have a persona that isn't just a blob of darkness, I wasn't sure about adding it here. I don't mind if that disqualifies me for the rewards, they're not what I'm aiming for I kinda just wanted to draw something for a cool person I found, , ,

Wick's original post!!!!!!

Piece w/out text and purple burn;

Piece w/out blur, editing and zoom;

[loverducky]

tryouts | oliver aiku x gn!reader | 1.5k

suggestive (kink discussion, bondage and petplay mentioned) with some grinding + praise at the end, i’m tagging dubcon because oliver just kinda jumps into it, reader’s a little insecure, a lot oblivious, and is implied to be more on the inexperienced side, oliver’s like. a soft tease in this ngl, this is Very selfship coded and based on this post, sorrgy not sorrgy :3

“so, whaddya think about being tied up?”

you and oliver are lounging about on the old couch you’ve got in your apartment. you lean forwards and grab your soda, half shrugging, “sounds fun to me! not a huge fan of those, like, metal handcuffs, they don’t look very comfortable, but rope and all that’s cool! shibari’s pretty too, although i don’t think i’d have the patience for it.”

you rest your face on your hand as you lean on the couch arm, cheek squishing a bit as you ask, “what about you? you got any fantasies about being tied up?”

he laughs, shaking his head, and you crack a smile when you notice how grown out the green is. “i’m more of the type to be doing the tying,” he says, shooting you a lopsided smirk, and you consider this with another sip, setting the can down on the table.

“huh. neat!” is your conclusion, and there’s a slight lull in the conversation as oliver stares at you. you tilt your head at him, curious, and he laughs again, quieter this time. weird.

“oh,” another thought occurs to you, “what‘s your opinion on petplay? ‘cause of the leash and all.” you gesture to your neck.

his smile turns cocky at that, and he leans in closer. “why, you trying to collar me?” he asks, voice low, and you turn to glare at him, fist raising in the air.

to his credit, he backs up in an instant, his hands held high like you’re holding him hostage. “woah, woah, woah, i’m kidding, i’m kidding,” he flashes a quick grin, “or am i?”

you roll your eyes and let your fist drop, going to grab your drink again, using it to gesture at oliver. “yeah, yeah. that’s not an answer, bitch.”

his arms drop to rest on the back of the couch, fingers tapping to an internal beat as he thinks. “sure, yeah, i think it’s pretty cute. sometimes they get all whiny, and that’s fun—”

you choke in the middle of chugging the rest of your soda, and you see his eyes flash towards you as you curl in on yourself. he scoots closer and pats you on the back while you hack away, his hand warm as he rubs circles into your shoulder blade. he grabs you some napkins from the table too, passing them over so you can wipe your mouth. when you finally straighten up, he leans back, smirking at you a little. you can only meet his gaze for a second before it drops to the floor, and suddenly sheepish, you mumble, “sorry bout that. wasn’t expecting you to bring up— well. you know.”

he nudges your thigh with his own, his voice teasing as he asks, “weren’t expecting me to bring up personal experience?”

“well, i mean,” you feel your body flush, and your shoulders hunch as you curse yourself internally. “i’ve told you this before, i know i have. haven’t i?”

your leg bounces in place as you continue to ramble. “it’s just that. well. i haven’t… god. okay.” you take a deep breath. inhale, exhale. “so, full disclosure. i haven’t really tried a lot of the things that i say i’m into? i guess it’s more like… i like the idea of that stuff?” your voice gets even quieter than before, “like, i, um. get off? to it?”

you’re not even sure if oliver hears those last bits. when you get the courage to look back up at him, though, he’s staring at you with a quiet intensity, a small smile playing at his lips that makes your gut twist in knots.

“something funny about that, asshole?” you clear your throat, trying to ease some of the tension that’s built up all of a sudden. “because i swear—”

“you interested in trying it?” oliver interrupts, and your mind blanks, your brow furrowing.

“trying… what?”

“petplay. or bondage.” your jaw drops a little and he laughs, not unkindly. “or anything else you think you might be into.”

you shut your mouth in a frown, kicking him lightly in the ankle. “very funny, you dick. there’s a reason i haven’t, you know.” you sigh dramatically, slumping over his lap with your full weight. you close your eyes, placing the back of your hand against your forehead as if you’ve fainted, and say, “not all of us are six foot tall football players with beautiful thighs.” your free hand pats them for emphasis, but with your eyes closed, you miss the flush of color that rises to his ears.

after a few long moments of silence, you peer through splayed fingers to see oliver looking down at you, that same soft smile on his face. he’s handsome, you think, reaching up to caress him, feeling the stubble scattered across his jawline. he lets you for a bit, before his hand grabs yours and guides it close, and you blink up at him in confusion as a gentle kiss is pressed to your wrist. you feel a wicked edge to his smile curl against your skin, then, and before you can tug it back into yourself, your arm is pinned high above your head.

oliver pulls his legs out from under you, and your second arm quickly joins the first, his body settling above your own with a practiced ease. you squirm in his grip, but he’s got you pinned against the couch, a knee between your legs and a smug look in his eyes. he leans down and you let out a little whine as he grinds his knee right where you want it, lust pooling between your thighs as your whole body shakes underneath him.

“well, would you look at that.” his voice drips with satisfaction, his eyes roving up and down your body appreciatively, and you bite back another embarrassing noise. “seems you do like being restrained, hm?”

you open your mouth to answer, only for your words to die with another half choked gasp as he grinds his knee into you again. his breath fans against your neck as he settles into the crook of it, alternating between soft kisses and tiny, nipping bites, and you feel like you’re losing your mind from how good everything feels. he’s got you by the wrists, his hold steady and warm and immovable, and at this point your hips are practically moving on their own, desperate for relief.

it doesn’t help that oliver won’t shut the fuck up. “-so cute like this, you know? always so loud, so brash, but all you wanted was a little attention, hm?” you feel the rumble of his laughter more than you hear it, feel it alongside the gentle scratching of his stubble, and you want to sob — from pleasure or relief, you’re not sure. “it’s alright, baby, you’ve got it, now. whatever you want, whatever you want to try, i’m right here, promise.”

your hands flex under oliver’s grip, and you whine again, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. your hips continue to buck against the sturdiness of his thigh, and you can pull yourself together just enough to whimper out a little “please.”

even you aren’t sure what you’re begging for, but when he lifts his head from where’s he’s been terrorizing your neck, the sheer lust in his eyes makes you shrink away from his attention. it’s too late, though. he rubs a little circle on your wrist with his thumb, before he switches his grip, holding both your wrists with one hand, the other guiding you by the chin to tilt your head into his. when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, it’s chaste at first, to your surprise, although your eyes still flutter closed at the feeling of his lips on yours.

his free hand wanders down, down from your chin, down your chest and below your waistline, and oliver’s kiss gets greedier as it travels closer to where you need it, eventually swallowing your cries whole when finally, finally, he’s reached between your thighs.

the direct stimulation is too much, too fast, too quickly. oliver’s good, even when working with just one hand, and within the next minute the coil within you snaps. you stay there shuddering beneath oliver’s body for a while, him releasing his grip on your wrists and you clinging to him in turn. when you think you’ve settled enough, oliver sits up, grinning at you like a madman.

you, on the other hand, scowl at him and punch him in the arm on your way up, crossing your arms and huffing. “you dick! have you just been trying to get in my pants this whole time?”

he shrugs at you, cocky half grin still clear as day.

“unbelievable. this isn’t happening again,” you poke him hard in the chest, “you hear me?”

“sure, baby,” he says, easy as anything, and you already feel your heart start to race again. fuck. “wasn’t lying when i told you i’d be your partner if you wanted to try some of those other kinks out, though. what was it you said again? petplay?” he leans down, drops his voice, and grins, “you’d look cute in a collar.”

you shiver, glare up at him, and point at the door. “out!”

[pokegalla]

Requested by @tryslogic

A little comfort and fluff for the soul✨

How will these Sans AUs comfort their S/o when they dissociate themselves after hearing bad news?

Fresh:

* Fresh is a fun guy to be with and you’re his S/o. He’s always ready to take you out for some fun and mischief! But he’s quick to catch on when you started acting different. Now he’s not very good with understanding emotions…..but he’s smart enough to know if it’s something not good. This was a clear bad sign and he’s already by your side once he’s figured it out.

* How he approached you was rather blunt- “Wassup brah? You not feeling yourself? Ain’t been getting yer messages in awhile.” He’s pretty casual about it and doesn’t seem concerned. Just genuinely curious. It only confuses him more when you don’t answer. So when you DO explain about receiving bad news and your dissociation as a sort of emotional whiplash…..he just stares at you…..then with a straight face says “Wat Dat? Is that like a rollercoaster-?” You swear if you didn’t love him, you would have punched him but instead you can’t help but laugh.

* But that’s definitely how he’s gonna help you! Making you laugh and come out of your shell bit by bit. He’ll get you your favorite snacks and chill with you the entire day in your home, playing games and snuggling. Once he sees you feeling better, he’ll look….surprisingly relieved. It’s odd he can’t feel emotions. But he does always feel…..something when he sees you smile. Something special.

* He wants to protect that special something you have together❤️

Lust:

* He’s a wonderful bone-friend and he’s very sweet as he always will give you the space you need. So when he notices you not messaging as much, he at least keeps messaging you sweet words of confirmation, letting you know that he still loves you and gives you multiple cute compliments with cute emojis as well✨ he usually waits until you tell him what’s wrong or say that you wanted to talk. Once you do, he immediately goes visit you.

* He comes over already with sweets and coffee from a nice bakery just for the two of you to share while you both talked about what’s wrong. “C’mon love…..you can take your own time. But know that I’m here for you.” You can’t help but feel much more comfortable as you tell him your recent situation and how drained you felt. “Awwww you poor little thing~ I’ll make sure to take care of you~”

* And he was not kidding on that. He ended up giving you a fun little spa day at home! Giving each other face masks, mani-pedis, washing your hair, massages, that skellie spoiled you rotten- by the end of the day, you two were cuddling in each other’s arms. He made sure you were ok by flirting and complimenting you…..and seeing you blush was just a nice bonus~. He’d be so happy to see you feeling better, he’d smother you in kisses.

* He’s your little Casanova! He wants to make sure his sweet S/o is happy no matter what!

Blue:

* Blue is a little confident sweetheart! At least he tries to be confident. Deep down he’s quite the Worrywart for the people he cares about. So seeing you distance yourself rang a lot of alarm bells for Blue. But oh he was so hesitant to confront you about it. What if he bothered you? What if he was overthinking? Oh what if HE was the reason you were upset?! He had to snap himself out of it. Whatever the case may be, it was his job to help his S/o!

* He kinda tries to dance around trying to ask you what’s wrong by asking questions about your day, if you’ve eaten anything, Y’know just making sure you’re ok. But when you question his concerns, he finally says it. “Well you’ve been….distant. And I didn’t know how to ask you directly. I’m sorry if I did anything wrong-“ you of course stop him right there. After all it wasn’t his fault at all! After the explanation, he understood right away! “Really?! Oh well we can’t have that now can we? Just leave it to me!”

* Blue did not hold back- he started cleaning the place, doing your laundry, dishes, and he didn’t want you doing ANYTHING. He wanted you to relax and have time for yourself! And he even made dinner for you! (He didn’t burn the kitchen down and it actually tasted pretty good thank god- but it seems he’s been practicing for you❤️). The day ended off with cuddles on the couch while watching a movie. Poor guy was super tired at the end but you couldn’t be more happier to have him as your bone-friend.

* He really is like your knight in shining armor, ready to defend you from anything! Even a bad day!

[ghu-leh]

Imagine Secondo's breath coming out in ragged gasps while the adrenaline rushes through his veins. Two of his most loyal ghouls, alongside him, had just finished taking care of pending business. "Business" that now laid lifeless and bloodied in front of them. He would never dirty his own hands with such low tasks, no. Yet, this was the one time he wanted to be there to ensure the bastard saw his smiling face as he sent his wretched spirit into the afterlife.

Imagine his heart stopping shortly after he wiped his face. Paint, blood, and sweat mixing in one, much like the contents of his stomach the moment he hears your sweet voice calling out his name.

Imagine the horror that sets in within him, as he now sees you standing there, peeking through the trees of the dark forest. Gasping for air after you had silently followed him all the way here, growing tired of the secrets he continues hiding from you. The other side that he won't allow you to see.

"Papa" you said in a trembling voice, taking in the morbid scene in front of you. "What is this..."

Imagine him rushing towards you, ordering you to cover your eyes and damning you all in the same breath. His arms surrounding you protectively from such sight. From the truth that now haunts you. From the monster that he is.

"Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo! perché sei qui" He says, over and over, as you struggle to set yourself free from his arms.

"Did you kill someone, Papa? Did you?!" You cried, the sickness pooling in your stomach. "You promised! You promised you wouldn't do it!". You are so naive and foolish to expect an anti-pope to remain clean throughout his leadership. And for his ministry to somehow be a representation of morality. Naive, dumb, little thing...

Imagine his anger mixing in as he feels your attempts to free yourself from him. After all the times he warned you. After all the nights spent in his bed and in his arms, as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Promising you a better life away from all of this. From the uncertainty, the secrets... from the fact he will one day inevitably lose you.

Imagine his stern, cold eyes after he ordered one of his ghouls to take you back to the ministry. Despite your protests, your kicking, and screams, you were taken back against your will. As you begged for answers, as you cried for clarity, he turned around to face away from you. He worked hard to steady his breath, as his heart drummed in his chest.

"Mi dispiace... piccolina" He muttered under his breath. The beginning of the end.

Your cries now muffled and drowned by the deafening silence of the forest. One nod. The remaining ghoul started to dig.

[moltensmusings]

Concept: elf tav who is just under 300, all of her children died as adventurers or guards. Her husband and her became vastly different people in the wake of all the grief. They havent spoken in years, incapable of existing around each other before breaking down. The journey after the crash she keeps seeing shadows her kids in the various party members and as such she desperately wants to help them. Save them in ways she couldn't for her own children. A pillar of love and guidance because her children may be gone, but she will always be a mother.

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral.

Khalil Gibran

[mblue-art]

from this fksjdfkfgb

[colorsunimaginable]

the spare // chapter seventy // death eater ! tom hiddleston oc x plus size ofc - voldemort wins au

story summary: 

While on a mission to avenge the death of her best friend, Ilvermorny graduate Melisa Alder finds herself in the middle of the fight to defeat Voldemort. Upon capture after the Dark Lord's triumph, she's being sold at an auction with other muggle borns and blood traitors. Her only hope is also her only bidder - the tall, dark, and handsome Thomus Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's younger half-brother. Is he just another Death Eater or is he hiding more than just his face beneath the mask? Will she realize her true potential to be one of the resistance's greatest weapons?

*a Voldemort Wins AU with Tom Hiddleston cast as an OC x a plus size protagonist* *takes place in The Auction universe by Lovesbitca8*

words for this chapter: 5k warnings for this chapter: light fingering?

banners by @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

Chapter Seventy:

January brings in a bitter cold front.

I show Thomus the Muggle magic of indoor heating known as the radiator. The sturdy metal contraptions try their best, but I still find myself layering my clothes and keeping the fire roaring in the living room anyway. My ass has been parked on the couch with the softest blankets in the house piled on top of me.

Thomus usually joins me in the evenings, and we'll either read together or put a movie on. During the day Thomus is in the office, typing away or dulling his quills for The Daily Prophet.

I don't really go out of my way to read any editions he leaves laying around. The few I flipped through had fun, exciting headlines like ZÜRICH UNDER SIEGE! and EXECUTIONS IN ZÜRICH: DARK LORD WELCOMES SWITZERLAND TO GREAT ORDER! Several articles spewed hateful rhetoric about Muggleborns and there was even an ad featuring Muggleborn repellent.

And so… yeah, I don't really need to consume so much negativity on a daily basis. It honestly would send me spiraling with that being my only access to the outside world.

I'm content staying in my own little delusion. Where I'm still in the dark about the details of the war raging around us, but I'm okay with that. The less I know, the less I'll stress. I can watch my silly little movies, make a never ending pot of leek and potato soup, and spend time with Thomus, who's the perfect distraction.

One morning during breakfast with Thomus, I realize it already has to be late January. Did he ever have that meeting with Voldemort?

I glance at him in time to see him scoop up the last bite of his oatmeal. I guess I could just ask him, right?

"Did you ever… have that meeting?" I ask, prompting his eyes to find mine. There are times where he's left the cottage, but it was usually to 'follow a lead', or so I was told. "With… "

He tilts his head, giving me a patient look.

"Um, the one that Yaxley mentioned the… Dark Lord would summon you for?" I finally get out. "From the New Years party."

"Right," he says, like he's expected this question somehow, and continues casually, "and you want to know what was said about you."

My face heats and my jaw drops, but I recover the reaction by immediately saying, "Yes." Then give him a sheepish smile. "Wouldn't you?"

He smiles in return, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

I start with a question not totally unrelated to the meeting, but something I've been dying to ask. "Why are there so many articles written about me?"

Thomus raises his eyebrows and smirks. "I was wondering when you were going to ask about them," he says, then crosses his arms and shifts down in his seat. "And to answer your question, it's not exactly a secret that you, an American Muggleborn back to back Wandless Magic Tournament Champion, are the property of a Death Eater."

I roll my eyes. "That's quite the mouthful, isn't it?"

He narrows his own. "Are you trying to under value yourself?"

"No," I scoff, shrugging. "I'm just saying the title doesn't really matter."

"Of course your achievements matter -"

"Not really."

His eyebrows raise again, seeming in utter disbelief. "Darling, your achievements are utterly remarkable for a mudblood. You should be proud."

For a few long moments, there's only silence that follows his statement as I let the hurt of his words sink into my chest.

"My achievements don't matter when I'm being held prisoner for the crime of my blood," I say quietly. "If you take my 'remarkable' abilities out of the recipe, what's left? My worth is no greater or less than the other… mudbloods."

His eyebrows and mouth are pinched inward as he stares at me before slowly nodding. "I shouldn't have called you that and I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

I'm taken aback by his quick apology and I just nod. Somehow it feels reassuring.

"With or without magic," he says quietly. "You're still dangerous."

I know he doesn't mean it as a compliment, but I decide to treat it like one. Straightening my back and squaring my shoulders, I give him a false bravado smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He gives a wry chuckle, glancing away and bouncing his leg.

"So what was it?" I press. "Either you bought me because you knew who I am and what I can do, or because you…" I trail off. My thought process had been confident, now I'm not so sure.

But he's looking at me, waiting for the rest. My eyes go to the table, how my fork sits on my plate.

"… just because you wanted to own me, and I don't think that makes very much sense." I peek at him to see he's looking out the frosted window.

"I haven't lied to you," he says pensively. "Yes, I knew who you were when I bought you, but it had little to do with my motivation."

He's definitely holding something back, especially because he's given me that answer before.

"And these articles about me warranted a summons from the Dark Lord?" I prod. "Why now? It's not like he didn't know I could do wandless magic. He saw it in my own head."

"I'm not sure he knew to what extent," he says slowly. "He doesn't take seriously Muggleborn achievements. But a few months ago someone leaked the status of your citizenship to the wizard news outlets in the states."

My expression slips to confusion. "But what about the one Skeeter wrote in May? Yeah, it's vague, but wouldn't that have told people where I was months ago? It's old news."

"Around here, yes, but remember in the states, The Daily Prophet isn't as popular," he says, and then mutters, "Especially now."

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it?" I say. "You've even admitted to me it's straight up propaganda."

He lets out a long, heavy sigh and gives me a look that says he's well aware.

"Can you tell me a bit more about Skeeter's one?" I ask.

Thomus sits up, putting his crossed arms on the edge of the table. "Actually, I'd like you to tell me a bit more about it."

My eyebrows rise. "Why? I didn't write it."

"Neither did I."

"But you were quoted in it."

He rolls his eyes. "I gave her what she wanted to hear and, shockingly, she twisted my words." He tilts his head, looking me dead in the eyes now. "And what's your excuse?"

"For what?"

"Are you guilty of the crimes she accuses you of?" he asks.

I press my lips together, smiling as I shrug. "I want a lawyer."

He barks out a laugh. "What?"

"I will not perjure myself. I've seen how your courts work, I'd probably be sentenced to death just because of my blood status." I'm making light of it now, but when the mudblood hunt was sweeping through the Ministry, I was terrified.

He doesn't seem to find that as funny as I do. "Who did you impersonate?" he asks seriously, but there's an eagerness to his tone. Which to me says he's been wanting to ask this for a while.

I still smile at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

His eyes narrow. "Rita?" he says, incredulous.

I nod. "Yup."

"Why did you need to get into the Ministry that badly?" he asks.

"Had my reasons," I shrug.

He lets out a long frustrated breath as he sits back, dropping his arms. "I'm assuming one of those reasons has to do with why you were hiding out with Potter?"

I take a deep, slow breath, nervous to tell the simple truth. "Yes."

"… and with how Samantha died," he states. "The plaque."

I feel my pulse jumping wildly in my throat as I reply with the same answer. "Yes."

None of this information is really new, unless he's only now putting all the pieces together. But we're getting side-tracked.

"So Voldemort's concerned about me after all?" I press after he'd gone pensive again.

He tsks, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "That's not how this works."

"Oh, come on," I whine, tilting my head and puckering my brows. "Are you really not gonna tell me what you talked about?" I might've even subconsciously pouted my lower lip.

From how he's gazing at me, for a moment I think he's finally going to open up… until he smirks.

"Do you really think batting your lashes and looking adorable will work?" he asks, thankfully amused and not insulted.

I press my lips together and sigh heavily through my nose, trying to smother my embarrassment. "Sorry," I sigh. "I think just being on his radar makes me really nervous."

"You don't have to be," he says, measuring his words for emphasis.

I give him a look. "Let me guess, it's because you've gone to 'great personal lengths' to ensure I'm not a threat to him?"

Thomus doesn't answer me immediately, slowly crossing his arms over his chest again without looking away. "What is it about that phrase that troubles you? Have I not gone to great lengths to protect you? To ensure your safety and well-being?"

My eyebrows push together slightly, meeting his guarded eyes. "But that's not what you said though. Ensuring that I'm not a threat doesn't mean keeping me safe. It doesn't mean protection."

"Is there something specific you're trying to get me to admit?" he asks hesitantly. I desperately hope it's because I've been vague and not because I keep pushing for answers he doesn't want to give.

I pinch my wrist in my lap, trying to dampen the anxiety painfully spreading through my chest. A deep breath kicks in my occlumency and I can bring forth rational thoughts, even if they stumble out of my mouth instead of gracefully stepping down.

"I - I guess I just want to know if you've been bullshitting me this entire time." Oh god, my voice cracked already. I just take another deep breath and keep going, looking out the window. Well, the cracks in the paint on the wooden frame. "With how you make me um… feel, and telling me that I'm important to you - and, and making me believe that I'd still be worth something to you if I wasn't…" I pause, taking a deep breath in through my nose. "If I wasn't a threat that needed to be dealt with." Another, shakier breath and my voice comes out as a whisper. "Is this real? Do you really care about me?"

I finally bring my eyes back to him, so terrified of his reaction. So afraid to be disappointed. To be utterly heartbroken.

I'm not quite sure how to read the face he's making. His eyes are so serious, not in a hard, scary way, but heavy and emotional. His mouth is soft, the right corner tugging upward. My heart pounds in my chest as hope springs forth, so desperate for good news.

"I think I got you for a steal," he admits softly, continuing to gaze at me. "If I cared about you then the way I do now… I would've paid anything, anything…You're worth more than gold to me."

The sincerity in his voice and his face and the tenderness in his eyes makes my lower lip tremble. I can't bare to look away from him even as my vision gets blurry from my tears. His thumb comes up to brush away an escaped tear and I grab his hand and hold it between mine.

I sniffle and clear my throat, but still whisper. "Thank you for defending me at the meeting on New Years. It meant a lot, especially because you didn't know I was there."

He leans forward, twisting in his chair to get as close to me as possible. Thighs and knees pressing together, his other hand slides around my tummy.

"I'm sorry I didn't start doing it sooner," he says. "Especially when I knew you were there."

I shrug a little and give him a small smile. "I understand it's complicated."

"But it's real," he murmurs. "I can't lie about that anymore."

"Well good. I don't want to lie to you either." I say this, knowing full well I'm going to have to lie to him in the near future. I keep a teasing smile on my face even as I feel my heart breaking while thinking about the inevitable doom. At least I'm not lying about this. "Because it's real for me too."

His head tilts and his smile mirrors my own. He pulls my hands toward him to press his lips to the back of them, meeting my eyes.

I go for a shot at levity, needing to forget that we won't get a happy ending. "Since we're being honest," I say, sitting back and looking him up and down. "Wanna fuck?"

He starts laughing and coughing all the while his face turns a super adorable pink.

"Oh, I'll do more than fuck you," he swears hotly.

I pull my hands out of his and stand, failing to keep the grin off my face. "Promises, promises," I tease.

His hands are on me in an instant, one arm securing me by the fupa as his other smacks down hard on my ass cheek. I cry out in surprise at the sting and then moan as that hand slips down to rub over my pussy between my thighs.

The way his lips are all over me, it's a miracle we make it to the bedroom before we're naked.

~*~

I don't get much sleep that night. Our confessions over breakfast left us insatiable in a way I hadn't experienced before. Even now, lying in bed wrapped in his arms, I'm unwilling to peel myself away. Despite getting several rounds of orgasms and enough cum fucked into me today that I wouldn't be surprised if my pH balance is off, I'm not tired of it, of him. It feels like a dream.

We still have the lamp on, casting it's muted yellow glow across his room. He's lying on his back, though his hips twist toward me, our legs intertwined. His arm is my pillow and I have the perfect view of his profile from where I'm tucked into his side.

He's just so handsome and how could someone like him ever feel something real for someone like me? It's superficial, yeah, I know. But he's meant to be with some blond bombshell like Diana, not… me. I can't even imagine what we look like side by side.

I don't know where we're supposed to go from here. How can I have the man of my dreams in a living nightmare? I want to believe he's been slowly changing. I want to believe he's not secretly worse than I fear.

Would he run away with me if I asked? We'd probably have to seek asylum with M.A.C.U.S.A…. Maybe pretend to be No-Majes for a while. Oh god, he'd have to meet my parents.

All terrible ideas, but it means we'd be out of danger, and we'd be together. It means we'd choose each other.

But… I really just can't see that happening. I can't see beyond this. His name is tattooed on my arm as a mark of ownership and I still refuse to ask for freedom.

Yes, he's confessed feelings, but are they strong enough to completely abandon all of this? Turn his back on his family? And what about… what about Bellatrix? He's a man with conviction. Of course those ties of loyalty would be impossible to sever.

Time to overthink and re-evaluate everything. Could I really just… go home? Have I really tried hard enough? Sacrificed enough? I've only destroyed one of his Horcruxes and he's still kicking and Sam is still dead. And fuck… he's only getting stronger. Kyle's plan feels weak in the eyes of the bigger picture. I've already tried so hard and yet the nightmare isn't even close to being over.

I don't know what makes me sadder. Not being able to be with him, or knowing he wouldn't chose me.

The pain of that knowledge consumes my chest until it hurts to breathe. It hurts to think that I was never an option in the first place just because of my blood and I ache for what could be.

As I gaze at his face, trying to commit it to memory, I come to the grim conclusion I have to know what was said between Voldemort and Thomus. If I'm going to come face to face with him one day without anyone there on my side, I need to be ready.

The easiest way I figure to do that is to just go into Thomus' memories. Since he's already asleep and obviously unprepared, I can get in pretty easily.

Before I completely submerge myself in his head, it dawns on me that I'm just another person who's taking advantage of his trust. The shame and regret burns under my skin and it's suddenly too painful to look at his face. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold him tighter to me, my fingers nearly digging into his ribs.

He deserves so much better than me. Someone he won't be bullied for liking, and more importantly, someone who won't betray his trust for their own selfish needs.

Upon swearing no malicious intent, I cross the threshold of his Occlumency walls. He's currently dreaming, which is good because then he's not paying attention when I slip to his memories, searching until Voldemort's face becomes center focus.

We're in what looks like an office in a castle, my best guess would be Hogwarts. The portraits and grandeur signal it could be the headmaster's, though I guess in this case, it's Voldemort's. Since Thomus' consciousness isn't present at the moment, I slow the memory down a bit, and step outside of Thomus' perspective. Standing next to him, I see his beard is about the length it was two weeks ago.

In the focal point of the room, Voldemort sits on a raised dais in a massive chair behind a massive desk. He looks just as creepy and alien-like as the last time I saw him. To Thomus' credit, he doesn't seem nervous at all. I wonder how many times he's had to stare that monster in the face.

"Do you know why, exactly, they're demanding her release?" Voldemort asks.

"Yes, my Lord," Thomus replies smoothly. "They believe that since she's not a citizen of the British Wizarding Ministry, then she should be released to her country of origin."

"Why is this filth of such significance? Because she can do a few tricks without a wand?"

Thomus pauses only briefly. "She is a Wandless Magic Tournament Champion, sir. Two years in a row."

At this news, Voldemort sits up. "That is who your Lot is?"

"I apologize, sir," Thomus says. "I thought you were aware."

"I've heard she cheated," the Dark Lord sniffs. He stands, his long black robes slithering along the floor. Except it's not just his robes slithering about, it's also that giant fucking snake glued to his side.

Thomus chuckles. "Yes, I've heard that theory floating about as well. However, I can assue you she's no different than any of the rest," Thomus says, much to my surprise. Voldemort raises an eyebrow at him, despite not having any. "That scheme is quite advanced for her, I'm afraid."

He says this so easily, so casually, and it's so convincing that I actually take a step back from him.

"Ah," Voldemort hums, circling the room, gazing at the different portraits. Most of them sit empty. Except for Dumbledore's. Dumbledore stares Voldemort head on from his chair, looking seriously unimpressed at the Dark Lord below him. "And what of her abilities? Has she given you any trouble?"

"She has only needed a stronger suppression potion," Thomus replies. "With it, her magic isn't a threat and neither is she. When not suppressed, the abilities she does have are unremarkable. Best not forget she's only a mudblood after all."

Voldemort turns on his heel at that. "Are you quite sure you feel that way, Thomus?" he hisses, starting toward him. "I've recently been made aware that your behavior has been quite unbefitting of a Death Eater of your blood status."

There's a heavy silence and his next words sink me all the way to rock bottom.

"You, of all people, should know better than anyone," Voldemort chides. "It would be a shame to lose you to the same fate."

Thomus swallows. "Yes, sir."

Voldemort sighs, his hand coming down onto Thomus' shoulder. "You are, and have proven yourself to be valuable to me, young man. I will not forget all that you have done in my service. You deserve your pet." His other hand comes to grasp his other shoulder. "But do not let that dirty blooded whore fill your mind with romantic notions. If you must, use it to your advantage. Play into it. Let her believe you care for her. Her loyalty and obedience will be a powerful tool."

Voldemort releases Thomus after a moment and dismisses him with a wave of his arm. "That will be all."

"Of course, sir."

I keep to Thomus' back as he seamlessly turns and leaves the room to descend a spiral staircase. Dazed, I follow Thomus as my head swells with doubt. Is he still pretending? What if he's been fucking with me this whole time? Just like last time.

I'm not sure when I go from following Thomus on the stairs, to trailing behind him in what looks like the Forbidden Forest. The large mossy trees feel both far away and crowded so close an unsettling, panicked feeling creeps across the back of my neck. I can't see my way out of here through the blue mist. All I can do is follow Thomus' ever shrinking form, anxiety spurring my feet faster after him.

My heart pulses in my throat and the moment I lose sight of him, I stupidly call out his name. My voice echoes and he's suddenly in front of me, halting within arm's reach, freezing me entirely. He's breathing heavily, eyes scanning his surroundings.

I open my mouth to say his name again, but another voice beats me to it. It calls for him - sweet, melodic, and eerily familiar. When his name is said again, the voice shocks me to my core… because it sounds like my voice.

My jaw stays dropped as his head snaps in the direction the voice came from. It calls for him again and this time he doesn't hesitate, spinning on his heel and launching into the trees in search of its source.

I follow him through the brush, quickly losing sight of him, but still picking up the sound of his hurried steps. When I emerge into a clearing, I see he's stopped and I have to step around him to find out what he's staring at.

It's a mossy, Roman style gazebo. It's white marble shines like a pearl, giving it an ancient ethereal look, and right in the center, draped on a chaise covered in flowers, is a goddess of some kind.

"Thomus!" the goddess calls, spotting him.

After the encouragement, Thomus' feet carry him across the small clearing in three long strides. He immediately kneels at her feel, burying his face in her lap, hands tightly gripping her hips. My approach is much slower, totally disbelieving what I'm seeing.

The goddess is… me. Well, she certainly looks like me with her bright pink hair curled in abundance around her. She's definitely me at first glance, but the closer I look at her face, the more uncanny it seems. My guess it's probably because it's a dream.

He got the body right though. There's absolutely no hiding it's shape in the dress she's wearing. The dress is white, long, and so sheer every curve is on full display, even the ones that I try not to remember exist. God, even the pink of my nipples is clearly visible.

The goddess runs her fingers through his hair and gazes lovingly down at him. He nestles in closer, rubbing his face up over her fupa and stomach. He says something, but it's too muffled for me to hear. She responds anyway.

"Yes, my love?"

My love?

I once again stare at them in shock as he takes her hands in his and raises his head back to her eye level. Thomus brings his lips to her fingers before he murmurs, "You are my sun, my moon, my star-lit sky." Then one of his hands dips down to her ankle, slipping fingers beneath the hazy hem to glide slowly up her calf. "Without you, I dwell in darkness."

I'm trying so hard to control my breathing as if it alone can stop this avalanche of emotions. His hand disappears between her thighs and her smile grows as his words continue.

"Your power has enchanted me," he declares sincerely, "and I am helpless against it." When his voice drops in tone she gasps, her full pouted lips parting slowly, in sync with her knees. His arm moves between them and wet noises drift out into the silence around us.

I've never had a more strange out of body experience as this one. And I thought the time-travel was weird enough.

His other hand releases hers, moving to her shoulder where he guides her to lie back along the chaise. Settled, he buries his fingers into her plush form, molding her to his touch.

Her arms reach out for him, able to cup his face and grab his shoulder. "Come to me now," she begs breathlessly. "Let me worship you in my arms."

The rhythm of his arm suddenly intensifies and her back arches in ecstasy as she cries out. His free hand pushes back the flowing dress over her knees so she's suddenly exposed before him.

"I can't stop," he gasps, his lustful gaze jumping from her face to her puss - oh, my god. "The beating of my heart - it pounds like never before."

There's something else the goddess has that I don't. Pubic hair.

And it's bright, fucking, pink.

My hand shoots up to cover my mouth before I spew out a cackle that could possibly wake him up. I silently shake with laughter as the steamy dream continues.

"Death makes the lover's a trivial thing," he whispers as he lowers his face closer between her thighs and to the glistening pussy he's still fingering. He gazes reverently at her body as a hand runs down her inner thigh, and he gives the most malleable bit of flesh near her pussy an appreciateive squeeze.

Before he can dive for her, she cradles his face once more. He fully leans into it, sighing heavily. "Your touch is worth a thousand deaths," he murmurs.

The hand over my mouth goes from holding back laughter, to holding back a pathetic whimper. His declaration has tears flooding my eyes and the air disappearing from my lungs.

I'm not crazy? Of course this is a dream, but this is literally a peek into his sub-conscious. It's proof that he's been telling the truth.

The tidalwave of emotions that come with that realization are far too overwhelming to experience while in someone else's head. So I back out, opening my eyes to shift back to reality. In it, tears have already escaped and pool by my cheek on his shoulder.

I shift onto my elbow, blinking and wiping away any remaining tears. Anxious to know if I've woken him, I stare at his face while my eyes readjust to the lighting. When it seems like I haven't, I slowly roll over until my feet touch the floor. Snatching my hoodie from the foot of the bed, I shrug it on and leave through the bathroom.

Internally I'm already chastising myself for even getting out of bed as my toes nearly freeze before I manage to pull on socks and a pair of undies from my wardrobe.

He loves me and the first thing I do is run from him? What am I doing?

I know I have a clean pair of sweatpants in the dryer, so I grab a laundry basket and silently tip toe downstairs. Setting the basket on the floor, I use Accio to quickly locate my pants. While I shrug them on, I cast a house keeping spell that has my laundry folding itself.

As I sort through the folded clothes, I think I hear a faint meow, so I pause, and when I hear it again I'm already turning towards the kitchen. Peeking out the back door window, I see Caelan staring up at me from the patio.

Why wouldn't he just use the cat door? I tap it with my foot to find it won't budge. Either way, I open the door and he quickly glides past my ankles. By the time I turn around, he's shifted to his less feline self.

He looks exhausted. Dark shadows form around his eyes and look stark compared to his alabaster complexion.

Caelan gives me a half-smile and looks sheepish. "Got time for a Floo call?"

"Yeah, sure," I nod. "With who? Thomus is asleep upstairs."

"Kyle. There's been some news."

I push my eyebrows together. "I'm guessing bad news?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure, really."

We quietly step into the livingroom. Caelan sets up the fire while I start up the TV and cast Muffliato, hoping both will mask any talking. By the time I'm kneeling next to Caelan, Kyle's face flickers in the green fire.

"Look, I'll just cut to the chase," he starts. "Eric Roosevelt's dead."

"Oh my god, that's awful," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"Aye, same here mate. How long ago?"

Kyle takes a deep breath. It's hard to read his expression when it's only peaking through the flames, but it looks like he's pretty shaken up. "A few days. Alder, we found the recipe you wrote him at the Christmas party among his notes."

"Yeah?" I ask. "Why's that important?"

He pauses a moment before saying, "We need you to continue his work."

[thneeden]

Okie dokie May I OFFICIALLY introduce Prince Lust! Or Lust-ler! 🐏🧚‍♂️

He, along with Wrath, are literally a tier below his majesty Lord Pride (a.k.a The Dark Lord) and he's such a freakin air head! 😆

You'll find him in his realm playing his flutes and kalimba, or making forget me knots 🪢 out of flowers with his nymphs instead of tending to his royal duties!

In his defense, i dont blame him...

If I had this place all to myself, I would goof off all day too! :3

[buppydogbellygirl]

I'm having bad week and can't make decision please push a button

[iii-of-ender]

i need to press my face into someone’s lap and have them pat my head while i let out a big long sigh and