#mirth and mortality

[spilycoris]

those who would question—

—would be strung.

introducing my little au called ‘mirth and mortality’ where the lamb is narinder's court jester. there is nothing else going on. ...totally.

bonus: this fan art made by the lovely @7-ferrets-in-a-coat . thank very much for encouraging the making of the jester au. and helping with kallamar. yeesh.

[mirthandir]

I know nothing about either of these shows, but every time I hear True Blood brought up I just think of True Grit (and as a teenager I didn't know there was a difference) so every time I hear something about True Blood I can't stop thinking about vampire cowboys and vampire outlaws

[spkyscry-a]

“I didn’t know mortals could be so scary... but I still want to experience Earth... ooh... Maybe I should steal from my sister for once and try a mortal disguise?”

[bbyseok]

genshin dragon men : calling him handsome

♡ pairing: zhongli, neuvillette x gn!reader

♡ a/n: this was originally supposed to also have wriothesley, dan heng, blade, and jing yuan, but i ran out of ideas. if you’d like to see something for them, please lemme know lol

———

zhongli — flattery, you swallow me.

the former archon is rather composed in nearly every waking moment you’ve seen him. he carries himself with an aura of calm confidence, whether he’s dealing with business on behalf of the wangsheng funeral parlor or spending his time leisurely alongside you.

he has a way with words; speaking oh so eloquently on a variety of topics.. from today’s weather to the latest tale of liyue’s history he’s been wanting to spew.

zhongli doesn’t get flustered often, if not at all. which makes sense for a man like him. having had many experiences in his six thousand years of life, it’s not really surprising.

but let’s just say that you’re feeling rather.. determined to see what blushing looks like on the funeral consultant. his stoic expressions do nothing to deter the handsomeness of his facial features, but you’re sure you can make him even prettier.

it’s like any other day in liyue harbor: bustling streets full of commerce, clear skies overhead, and calm waves from the sea.

zhongli had proposed to you earlier in the week that you spend a day with him. “i enjoy your company,” he had said without batting an eye and knowing that those words easily had your heart racing, “even if we are simply doing nothing at all.”

you have yet to see him so far, waiting beside a food stall and trying to catch sight of his presence amongst the crowd. you shift on your legs, moving to lean on the stall and crossing your arms. ah, there he is.

dressed in his usual attire of brown, gold, and black, he catches your eye quite easily and begins to approach you. his strides are long and he’s quick to almost reach the spot where you’re standing.

and here’s your chance!

before he can speak and greet you, you take a deep breath, flash up your own smile, and say right as he closes the distance in the most suave voice you can muster, “hi, handsome.”

you’re expecting a reaction of surprise from him, of course. he’s no stranger to compliments, but he’s not used to them as brazen and blunt as this—especially from you.

but you still certainly don’t him to stumble and nearly fall at your feet. zhongli’s footing stutters ever so slightly and he has to regain it as he stands in front of you, clearing his throat with eyes that seem to widen for only a couple of heartbeats.

and you were right: he looks even prettier with the faint pink dusting over his cheeks. it’s barely visible, but it’s there. and it’s there because of you.

frankly, he feels like a silly fool, fumbling like that. even though his current status is one of a mortal, he had stood boldfaced during countless events in the middle of wrath and destruction, and these mere words from you has him acting like some- some teenager!

zhongli clears his throat again, trying to confirm that he hadn’t misheard you. “pardon?” he coughs, amber eyes sparkling with curiosity and a hint of mirth.

your smile is the same as before, tugging at the corner of your lips subtly. “hi, handsome,” you repeat cheekily, speaking as if you just hadn’t witnessed him trip oh so elegantly. you straighten your form so you’re no longer leaning on the stall. “was wondering what was taking you so long.”

his eyes are watching you closely, and he seems to have regained his usual composure, even with the blush still lingering on his cheeks. “ah, i apologize,” he muses, “i failed to realize the time.”

and then, it’s his turn to flatter you. because the feeling is mutual, is it not? your boldness should be repaid. after all, flattery is an exchange that goes both ways.

zhongli grasps your hand within his gloved one, lifting it up to brush his soft lips over your knuckles with delicacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“a beauty such as you should not have to wait.”

———

neuvillette — oh, how the water stirs.

the chief justice of fontaine is a man of an honorable reputation. your hear nothing but good—and sometimes mysterious—things from the people of the nation.

being an assistant of the iudex, however, does allow you to see other sides to him. while he is strict and stern, almost immovable, in the court, he is also kind and tender to those he seemed fit to receive such treatment from him. (the melusines are a prime example.)

whatever he seems to be doing though.. he nearly always wears almost an emotionless expression on his alluring features.

now, there are many words that you can use to describe neuvillette’s appearance with: ethereal, striking, breathtaking even. but the last thing you want is to overwhelm him and embarrass yourself.

so you’ll start small, you decide. a short and honest compliment because the iudex’s assistant is allowed to compliment him sometimes, right?

today’s routine is quite normal so far—you help sedene and any of the other melusines that have tasks around the palais memoria before preparing to greet neuvillette and help him out with his papers and any other duties.

you can tell he has arrived when everyone takes a look and hushes down; the entrance hall of the palais memoria is usually quiet in ambience but even more so with the chief justice now present.

“good morning, monsieur neuvillette,” you greet him as well as he approaches, and he gives you a polite smile in return, cane stamping on the floor gently.

he says your name softly and shakes his head. “ah, i’ve already told you before. you can simply call me neuvillette— i insist.”

you chuckle in response and nod. first name basis with who is essentially one of the most powerful beings of the nation is nothing short of nervewracking. you don’t let it get to you though, gesturing to the door. “ah, right. sorry. shall we head into your office?”

neuvillette nods and walks. you move to follow him, but there’s a sudden tugging on your clothing and you look to see sedene behind you.

the melusine giggles, perhaps in a knowing way. “monsieur neuvillette seems to be quite fond of you, if i must say!” she says in a hushed voice.

you flush, waving her statement off. “oh, sedene!” despite feeling slightly embarrassed, you’re flustered as well. eventually, you head into neuvillette’s office, hoping he doesn’t notice anything amiss.

you settle into routine easily; briefing him up on any upcoming trials and cases, smaller notifications from the people of fontaine, and of course—situating his seemingly endless stacks of paperwork.

after a while, neuvillette now seated at his desk, he emits a soft sigh and bids you thanks. “thank you. that’ll be all for now.” his ever glistening gaze rests on you. “i do wish you a pleasant rest of your day.”

okay, you can do it. it’ll be fine. just tell him he looks good and leave! why does it seem like his eyes are boring straight into you? they’re unreadable as ever, leaving you to simply wonder what will go through his head when you say what you want to say.

nonetheless, you take a quick, deep breath and go for it. “you look handsome today, neuvillette,” you tell him, a sincere smile tugging at your lips.

he doesn’t say anything, and the brief silence that hangs in the air is nearly startling as he simply continues to stare. you clear your throat quickly and look away. “well, you look handsome every day, but i just wanted to let you know now and well-”

you’re rambling, great. “um, i’ll be taking my leave now, monsieur!” you awkwardly dismiss yourself and hurry out of his office, missing at how the tips of his ear subtly burn with a different shade of color.

you don’t even bother glancing at a curious sedene as you usher your way out of the bulding. oh, archons! how are you going to face him now?

unbeknownst to you, all that is left is the hydro dragon in deep contemplation, papers still completely untouched since your departure.

it is only when sedene enters the room with her clipboard does he stir, and he blinks at her appearance. his brows furrow, still deep in pondering.

“monsieur neuvillette, is everything alright?”

there’s a pause. for a rare moment, the chief justice allows himself to be hesitant and genuinely curious aloud.

“sedene.. am i… handsome?”

(it’s safe to say that for the rest of the day, fontaine has nothing but a sunny sky.)

[magicdustsworld]

His Favourite

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tropes: King x concubine, fluff to angst. (Just a drabble)

Tags: intention of impregnation, suggestive smut, heian era, no mentions of y/n.

________________________________

Being Sukuna's favourite concubine has its perks.

She gets all the special treatment. From the jewels decking her radiant form to the luxurious amenities granted to her by the lord, himself; she has it all. The mealtimes as well as place for all the other concubines are set in stone. For her, no. She dines with his lordship, indulging him in stories of her own while he indulges her like a artist to his muse.

Ryomen Sukuna is enamored.

Enamored by this woman who was offered to him by the second clan head of the village – a means to negotiate with his highness to not exploit their land. A negotiation upon which Sukuna took an keen interest.

However, may the tale of that burning village be kept out for another day.

For today- and for all the forthcoming days, are meant for this very woman who he keeps by his side while he lets the mortals entertain him with their quandaries.

It's his decree, for he is the King of curses and she – his cherished.

Everyone who visits him would and should know that she demands as much respect as him. That she is a force not to be reckoned with. That by his side, she doesn't cower to fear instead commands it.

That's satisfaction. That's fulfilment.

That very fulfilment isn't attained until the woman tenderly grazes her hand against his. Delicately she runs her fingertips over the ridges and callouses of his skin. However, the relief only courses in his veins when she presses her lips on his palm.

Glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, the suggestive glint isn't elusive to him. The mirthful curve of her lips to the innocuous mien oftentimes left him ensnared in a cage. A cage from where he deliberately wishes to never attain freedom.

This little minx...

Isn't it laughable? The haunting nightmare of humanity left to a crumbling mess in front of his precious, his cherished, his soon to be consort.

Hence, he indulges her.

Indulges her in a passionate evening where he trails warm kisses down her spine, hand resting on the dip of her hip while he curls his finger in her warm core. The ridges of his knuckles brushes her lips, grazing the sensitive space in her he draws out her salacious moans. Her face twists into a series of expression – ones which he etches on his memories with all the others.

It isn't enough. He needs more. He needs to know her. All of her.

Her lower body spasms as she hits the peak of her ecstasy. He doesn't stop there, he cages her again in his arms; her only home. Anywhere else isn't safe for her delicate essence.

He continues the passion filled dance, aligning himself with her entrance before he is pushing in. The difference in bodies is starkly evident, no amount of lubrication would ever help the initial pain. However, when Sukuna marks the traces of tears in her eyes, he is quick to caress her with affection. Adoration brims in his irises while endearments combined with encouragement are befallen on her parched ears.

She smiles and may the lords be merciful...

He gains the signal and he keeps her in his embrace for how long no one knows. He jostles her body from one position to another, drawing out lascivious sounds from her as the wave of pleasure crashes over both of them simultaneously.

His seed drips out from her and Sukuna, for all is a twisted man, hence he can't help the pride that swells his chest.

One day, he tells himself. One day the very seed will grow inside her as his kin. One day, he will have her by his side as his queen.

Sukuna lets her rest in his chambers after the fateful display of lust and fire. She is fast asleep on the silken sheets and he finds himself, cleaning the mess – her. Verily, he has his servants but they don't get to see her like this.

This beauty, this vulnerability. All of its his and only his. She is his.

She has him enthralled.

Each glance, each smile, each honeyed word spoken to him, kindles a fire in the abyss of his existence. The unknown vulnerability ensnares him deeply, vexation causes the slight quirk of his brows when he observes her again – frolicking in the courtyard with the chosen mortals whom she calls her friends.

He scoffs.

The sun embraces her in its glows while the zephyrs play and curl her cascading strands. The butterfly perches on her bare shoulder while she feeds the pigeons in the courtyard. The daunting smile, the flicker of light, the luring whisper, even with all the evidences shouting at him, he tells himself that its only the nature.

The nature enthralls him, not her.

Yet, when the very nature decides to flaunt itself by rendering the land, the sky, the air in hues of the golden twilight, there's only one beauty he finds – her.

Ryomen Sukuna indulges what he desires.

He desires her, hence he indulges her as well.

From bringing her exorbitant jewels and fabrics to all the books she wishes to read, he does it all. She needs a relaxing bath after a day of endless toil? Uraume is ordered to watch over the luxurious bath. She craves for a certain kind of meal? Uraume must prepare it, no matter the situation.

At this point, Uraume just happened to be serving two masters simultaneously.

However, shimmering stoned and resplendent kimonos hold little light in front the affection she acquires. Little do his other consorts know about the poems he pens for her. Only her.

Yet, he is twisted. So is his affection. Therefore, he keeps the poems all around the map of his abode. For her to solve the mystery and finally gain the fruit of his affections.

If only... if only he wasn't such a twisted man.

If only, you never chose to step in this side of the garden. If only–

Under moonlit skies

Our fingers grazed, silent bliss

I knew that day, yet

Ignited hearts had senses merged

Melding in midnight's embrace.

Was it a cruel joke?

The knife twists itself into your heart, jabbing at the secluded corners with an intensity that physically hurt. Your shoulders trembles, nails dig into the flesh of your palm; so deep and so much that it draws blood.

The stinging pain of a pierced palm is negligible in front of a trampled heart. The pain courses through every vein, every pore, every inch. It's a kaleidoscope of memories that you're pushed in, fantastical memories with which you had always deluded yourself. The very pictures are running before your eyes as you struggle to breath, the lump forms in your throat as the tear pricks your eyes and yes– they tumble down. Smearing over your cheek and trails to your jaw.

Its almost like a concussion, the only difference is that your heart is hurting. A rippling pain grapples your entire being and then your knees give out.

You shoulders slump down so does all the breeze as the humidity causes your hairs to stick to your skin. You have your mouth agape, deep breaths for calming yourself down but it doesn't work.

Nothing works. Nothing works today. Nothing will ever work.

How could it when the man you love, loves someone else? How could anything ever be fine when the man you swore your loyalty to, never cared for it in the first place? How would you ever be alright knowing this is a grave you have dug for yourself?

You bring up the poem before yourself again. The very words swirling before your eyes akin bees near a flower.

Have you lost your sense or rationality? It hurts. It hurts so much. Yet, you read the poem again.

And again.

And again.

And then, you chuckle.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, suppressing the sounds which escape yet you keep reading. The chuckles continue with the streaming tears and finally, when the moisture in your eyes renders you incapable of proper vision, your laughs die down.

"Ah– just how foolish of me..."

Truly, so foolish of you.

After all, you're just another concubine while she is his favourite.

[sarahscribbles]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @inklore

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The God of Mischief is laughing beside you. 

It’s quiet against the happy chatter of the TV but still sends a rush of warmth straight to your heart - like taking a straight shot of Tennessee whiskey on a winter’s evening. It’s nothing like the bitter, sardonic sound he reserves for most of the team - this laughter is light and joyous and unquestionably happy.

It’s…nice, and it’s quickly becoming your favourite sound in the world. 

Much like how Loki is becoming your favourite person in the world. It’s been gradual, like the first blooming flowers of spring, and, if you’re being honest, entirely unexpected. Only a few months ago Loki was nothing more than a thorn in your side. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. 

In a short space of time, he’s become your best friend and your confidante; he’s the first person you want to run to when you have a bad day, the first person you want to run to when you have a good day, and, steadily, he’s starting to feel like home. 

He isn’t a monster intent on destruction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He’s just Loki, the man whose happiness is slowly becoming yours.

His chest bounces beneath your ear again. You have no idea what the narrator has just said, but it was evidently something that Loki found amusing, and his laughter pulls an easy smile across your face. “I love hearing you laugh,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling even further into his side. 

Maybe it’s because the man who so many people are still quick to call a villain is reclined back on your sofa with his legs stretched out on the massive ottoman, maybe it’s because he’s cradling you to his cashmere clad chest like he never wants to let you go, or maybe it’s because of the random kisses he’s been pressing to the top of your head all evening. 

Whatever it is, you’re overcome with softness for him. Behind the aloof, icy facade is a golden heart, and you’re seeing more and more of the goodness that lies within it every single day.

“Is that so? Then we should watch your little mortal box more often, darling. It’s rather endearing to hear Midgardians attempt to understand Asgard,” he reponds, mirth lighting up his voice while his fingertips trail softly along your upper arm.

He misses the fond roll of your eyes only because something else has caught his attention that he must pass comment on, and you listen enthralled while he explains the actual differences between Valhalla and Fólkvangr. You’ve both been watching this documentary on Norse mythology for over an hour, and Loki has spent a large chunk of it pointing out every wrong detail no matter how small. 

Each deep, exasperated sigh and pronounced click of his tongue has you giggling like a child beneath his arm, to which he squeezes you that little bit tighter. He’s proud of himself, and it makes you wonder if he’s actually annoyed by the portrayal of his home or if it’s all an act to make you laugh. 

With Loki, either is highly likely. 

“Do you know what amuses me, darling?” he says lightly, still trailing those elegant fingers along your arm. You expect to hear something more about what the documentary has gotten wrong, but that’s not what comes. “A few months ago, you actively despised me. Now, I believe you would climb into me if you could.” His voice is soft, leaving no room for you to doubt that he’s only teasing. 

You burrow deeper into his embrace. “I didn’t despise you,” you reply with a small smile.

His arm tightens around your shoulders again and something warm and golden blooms in the pit of your stomach. It’s too soon to call it what you know it is, but you feel the flame burn brighter with every second you spend with him.

The man you’re currently twisted around is brilliant and loving and your heart fits right in the palm of his hand. It’s safe there, you know. You trust him, even though everyone you know has warned you not to. 

It’s one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

Loki’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Darling, you despised me,” he repeats, but you know he’s smiling along with you. 

You pretend to huff, but reach out to poke his side, delighting in the way he squirms beneath your tickling touch. “I didn’t! I didn’t like you, but I didn’t despise you, either,”

“That knife you threw at me in the training room after Yule begs to differ,” he shoots back seamlessly, while you force back laughter at the memory of his face frozen in shock at your expert aim. 

You shrug lightly into his chest. “Natasha told me I needed to practice more. 

“Darling, I can assure you she meant to practice on inanimate objects. 

You tilt your head back to peer up at him with a teasing smile. “You were inanimate; you were standing in the doorway.” 

Loki releases an exasperated sigh but wraps both arms tightly around you to pull you fully into his lap. “Little menace,” he replies while you pretend to squirm in his grip. It only makes him grip you tighter until you’re clamped inescapably against his chest. 

Through the rich material of his sweater, you can feel his firm chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. The man is a work of art, yet it’s you who's straddling his lap - an unremarkable mortal. 

He smiles at you as you continue to admire him, and it’s a smile that’s almost shy. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, hmm?” he asks quietly, resting his hands on your hips.

“You. Thinking about you,” you answer, watching the faint tinge of pink that colours his cheeks. 

His hands slide up from your hips only a fraction until he can dip his thumbs underneath the hem of your shirt to trace absentminded circles on your bare skin. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends something electric shooting along your spine. 

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling,” he purrs. 

Loki’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, but you can read the need for praise that’s swirling deep beneath the surface. It’s one thing you can’t deny him. 

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” you tell him, sliding your hands from around his neck to stroke his biceps. “And how lucky I am,” you continue. 

The muscles in his neck flex and you feel your resolve crumble to dust. It’s been calling out to you from the moment he pulled you into his lap, and you can no longer deny yourself the luxury of pressing your lips to his skin. 

Loki’s broken inhale is instant and his fingers curl tighter around your waist. Your teeth are quickly grazing along his throat while you suck a bruise into his skin. You want to mark him, to stake your claim on him. 

You want to leave no doubt that this god - this beautiful, wonderful man - is yours. 

“Darling, you need -,” he begins, but it melts to a moan when you run your tongue along his neck. “Darling,” he tries again. 

You silence him with a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair to tug it, he rolls his hips experimentally against you. The hard length of him presses wondrously against you, coaxing your hips to grind down on top of him. Loki’s breath catches in his throat while he kisses you, and you know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. 

“Darling, anymore of that and -,” 

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

His eyes soften as they take you in, scanning your face for even a breath of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asks, while his thumbs return to stroking your sides. 

“Yes,” you answer firmly, resting your forehead against his. “No more waiting. Please.” 

In one smooth movement, his arms are wrapping around your middle to press you tightly against him. One strong hand weaves its way into your hair while his lips find yours again. There’s a new hunger to his kiss - it’s raw and possessive and filled with a need that has been simmering beneath the surface for months. 

You expect him to flip you onto your back and finally make you his right here on the sofa, but his hands eagerly begin to run down your back and grip beneath your thighs. Suddenly, he’s on his feet and your legs are locking around his waist. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, because he’s not letting you break this kiss even for a second. 

“Beautiful thing,” he whispers into your mouth, effortlessly carrying you from your living area and down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

The Norse mythology documentary is long forgotten. 

His lips stay locked to yours until your back hits the bedroom door, and only then does he break away to curse as he fumbles with the handle. You laugh quietly - because for some reason it’s oddly endearing - and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Loki wastes no time in kicking the door closed when you’re finally through. Vaguely, you notice a faint green shimmer cascade over the wood as it settles in the doorframe, but it’s pushed from your mind by the frenzy of kisses that Loki is pressing to every inch of your face. 

“Do you know,” he murmurs, trailing a haphazard line of kisses along your cheeks, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

His admission fans the flames of desire burning fiercely in your stomach. How have you lasted so long without inviting him into your bed? How have you not had this man again and again until his name is seared into your soul? How have you not realised how fiercely he burns for you too?

“Then take me. Please,” you murmur against his lips. 

His answering smile is soft and gives you another swift kiss. “Begging won’t be necessary, darling.” 

With surprising gentleness, he lays you on the bed amongst your pile of pillows. Your legs fall open instantly for him, to which he quickly climbs between. There’s a hesitance to his movements, almost as if he’s scared to lay a finger on you. 

“I’m not going to break,” you say with a smirk. “You can touch me. I need you to touch me, Loki.” 

Your hands find the hem of his sweater, coaxing it along his back until he’s helping you pull it off. You’ve seen him shirtless before - many times - but your fingers still reach hungrily for his chest. Loki shivers beneath your touch and pride blooms happily in your stomach. 

An unremarkable mortal you may be, but you have a god shivering beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, his hands slip underneath your shirt, and cool fingers glide along your stomach to push it over your head. His eyes travel appreciatively over you before settling on your breasts. 

“Enchanting, beautiful thing,” he says, leaning to press his lips to your neck. 

The reverence in his voice has a rush of heat pulse between your thighs while you grasp his strong shoulders. Too many times, previous lovers have made you feel like you were nothing more than an object, something that was conveniently there for them to fuck. 

Not with Loki, though. The man has barely undressed you and he’s treating you like the most precious thing his hands have ever held. 

Boldly, you reach for his belt, shooting him a suggestive smirk while you unfasten it. He lets you work, diving in for another blistering kiss as you undo the button and open the zipper. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of him beneath your fingers is electrifying, and there’s a newfound urgency in your movements as you try to push his jeans off. 

After a few strategic tugs they slide over his hips, granting you the freedom to run your hands greedily over the firm swell of his ass. You can’t help but moan shamelessly into his mouth while simultaneously squeezing him with both hands. He’s a work of art beneath your appreciative fingertips. 

Something close to a growl rises from Loki’s chest and he gently nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he purrs lightly. 

Grinning, you squeeze his ass again. “It’s been my evil plan all along.” 

“Ah! I’ve been bested by a beautiful little devil!” he teases and lowers his lips back to your neck. 

His kisses are slow and deliberate and punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. You know what he’s doing; you know that every mark he’ll place on you tonight is a claim, a message to anyone who looks that he’s finally made you his.

The molten beast of arousal burns fiercer between your thighs. You hope and pray that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. You want everyone to know that you belong to him.

Loki interlocks the fingers of one hand with yours, all while slowly trailing a path of kisses along your chest and down your stomach. It’s silent adoration - a god worshipping his mortal - and he only stops when his lips meet the waistband of your leggings. You feel him hesitate, feel him run the pad of his thumb across the material while he lifts his eyes to yours.

It only takes you a second to realise he’s asking for permission. 

You nod quickly and breathe out a quiet “yes.” 

Loki presses a final kiss to your stomach and gently squeezes your hand. He lets go to hook both sets of fingers into your leggings, taking great care not to jostle you around while he tugs them - along with your underwear - easily down your legs. You’re suddenly bare before him and, stupidly, you feel a rush of nervousness pulse through you. This man has slept with gods and goddesses and beings more beautiful than you can even imagine. 

How can you compare?

Glittering green eyes travel hungrily over you. The earlier softness is still shining there clear as day, but now it’s swirling and mixing openly with undisguised lust. It causes a gentle heat to burn beneath your skin and, almost subconsciously, you attempt to cover yourself. 

But Loki is having none of it. 

His hands reach to clasp yours and he folds your fingers easily between his, pinning your arms to the mattress. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he says slowly, making sure you hear every word. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you repeat his question back to him, though even you can hear the shakiness of your own voice. 

Loki’s answering smile is infectiously boyish. “Is it working?” 

He can likely hear your heart thundering in your chest, but you still reply with, “maybe. I’m not sure yet.” 

“Hmm, perhaps I need to try a little harder?” he says, still grinning impishly.

His hands slide to gently grip your wrists so he can guide your arms around his neck. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart swell in your chest because he trusts you enough to touch him. You hum contentedly and tangle your hands loosely in his hair, twisting silky strands around your fingertips as he drops his lips back to your chest.

His kisses are slower now and the warmth of his lips lingers like a dream against your skin. It’s as though he finds his pleasure from simply kissing you, like that alone is enough to send him freefalling into bliss. It’s a heady thought that has your back arching, greedily searching for more of him or maybe offering up more of yourself. 

You aren’t entirely sure. 

Loki’s lips travel lower in tandem with his hands that are curled around your middle. His touch is so intoxicating, so wonderfully addictive that you can’t stop the quiet whimper that slips from between your lips. You feel him smile against the skin of your lower stomach, feel his thumbs trace tiny circles against your hipbones, and when he hovers just millimeters from your cunt, you automatically hold your breath. 

When nothing happens you flick your eyes questioningly down to his. 

Loki is gazing at you with desire storming in his eyes, so much so that they’re almost completely black. He looks like a man starved and doesn’t break his gaze from yours as he bends his head to lick a firm, slow stripe along the length of your cunt. Electricity crackles almost joyously through your blood, setting every inch of you aflame and pulling a shameless moan from the depths of your throat. 

Through the haze of your desire, you feel Loki gently squeeze your hips. “Ok?” he asks quietly. 

The laugh you release is short and strangled. “Y-yes! God, yes!” 

A wolfish smile curls across his face. You watch transfixed as he dips back between your thighs, never tearing his eyes from yours as he buries his tongue in your cunt. A volcano of pleasure erupts in your core, twisting through every inch of you with each skillful flick of his tongue. You groan, you whimper, you grip Loki’s curls so tightly that you’re surprised he isn’t howling from the pain. 

“Ugh…fuck!” you groan when he slips his hands beneath your ass to pull you closer. 

His mouth is warm and wet and talented - god, it’s talented - and when his tongue begins to lap over your clit you can’t help but buck and grind against his face. You feel him hum appreciatively against your cunt, and he swirls his tongue firmly over your swollen clit once, twice more. 

“Loki!” you whimper. “Fuck, Loki, keep doing that! Please!” 

He’s only too happy to grant your request. His tongue traces swirls and patterns endlessly against your clit. It’s just enough pressure and just the right rhythm that the coil in your stomach quickly begins to wind tight. Every expert flick and swirl of Loki’s tongue is like diesel to a flame, setting your core alight until you’re completely engulfed by him.

If you died right now, you would greet death happily. 

Loki continues to lap at your cunt like a man starved, and when your back arches off the bed, he slips his hands further beneath your back to clamp you firmly against his warm mouth. It’s pleasure like you’ve never experienced - white hot and all consuming - and before long you’re balancing beautifully on the edge. 

“Loki…Loki, please…I’m…m’ gonna come!” you say, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea. 

The first tendrils of your release are licking through your core and each tiny cry that passes from your lips only encourages the god between your legs. The warm wetness of his tongue laps perfectly at your clit, making stars begin to dance at the edge of your vision, but when he moans against you - a deep, satisfied rumble of sound - you know you’re gone. 

Your orgasm engulfs you suddenly and without warning. The force of it sends your eyes rolling in your head and your hands tangling in Loki’s hair like a vice. His name leaves your lips in a scream to the heavens, and his head doesn’t stop bobbing between your legs until you’re panting and boneless on top of the mattress. 

Amidst the lavender haze that has settled around you like a favourite blanket, you feel Loki press a soft kiss to your still sensitive clit. It makes you jolt and pulls a strangled sound from deep in your throat, but then his thumbs are drawing lazy circles over your hip bones. 

I’m here. 

His lips begin a slow path from between your thighs, pressing gently and haphazardly along your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. He kisses across your collarbone and dips below your chin, making sure not to miss even an inch of your throat. 

Never in your life have you felt more desired.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs before his lips find yours. "Worthy of the gods.” He kisses you deeply and the taste of you is still heavy on his tongue. It’s electrifying and only serves to reignite the flames of arousal that he’s only just quenched. 

You can’t help but giggle against his lips and reluctantly break his kiss. “The only god I want is you,” you say quietly, cupping his face in your hands. 

He gazes down at you silently, looking as though you’ve just placed the secrets of the universe in his hands. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking - that he’s struggling to believe he’s the one you want - and it fills you with a renewed purpose to ensure this man never goes to sleep feeling unwanted. 

You tug him back down until his lips are back on yours. His kiss is slower this time, languid, as though he wishes to use every last second to commit the taste of you to heart. 

A god drunk on the taste of his mortal. 

“Touch me. Please,” he rasps, breaking from your lips for only a second. 

It’s a plea you’re only too happy to answer. Slowly - because you want to enjoy every last inch of this man - you slide your hands from where they’ve been resting on his biceps. You marvel at the broadness of his shoulders and drink in the smooth expanse of his muscled back. Lightly, you trace your fingertips along the hollow of his spine, delighting in how he shivers beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing compared to the deep, appreciative moan that tumbles from his lips when your hands once again squeeze the smooth swell of his ass. 

You laugh into his mouth and rest your arms back across his shoulders. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper, raising a hand to brush some stray curls behind his ear.

He catches your wrist before it can rest your hand back on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the centre of your palm. “You, my dove, are a treasure amongst mortals,” he says softly, all while positioning himself between your welcoming thighs. His forehead finds yours at the same time his cock nudges teasingly against you. “Let me pleasure you, darling, please. Let me give you every part of me.” 

Easily, you wrap your legs around his waist where they fit like a missing puzzle piece. “If you don’t, I’ll be very upset,” you tease him. 

He grins widely so widely at you that the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Well, we certainly can’t have that,” he replies, and slowly, you feel him begin to ease into you. 

You inhale deeply as the blunt head of his cock slips inside you. It’s barely anything at all but already your head is rolling back on the pillow and your eyes are slipping shut. You knew Loki would feel good, but nothing could have prepared you for just how good. 

You want to lose yourself in the feel of his body in yours, but before you can even draw breath two cool fingers are on your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head forward. 

“Keep your eyes on me, my darling,” he commands softly and you instantly snap them open. “Good girl.” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he eases himself fully inside you, giving you all the time you need to adjust. He’s big, and every added inch has you clenching joyously around him if only to hear the groans that spill from him each time you do. 

“Fuck,” he groans, dipping his head between his shoulders when you clench particularly hard. “Little vixen. Beautiful little menace,” he continues, dropping haphazard kisses to your cheeks and chin. 

When you can take no more of him he coaxes your hand from where it’s been clamped to his shoulder, clutching it tightly in his own as though he fears you’ll melt beneath the cotton sheets. 

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you assure him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

A quiet puff of laughter escapes him and he dips his head. You see the sheepish look that settles across his handsome face and your heart swells for him, for this man who has known more loss than many would deem fair. 

You’ve barely left his side these past few months, but still he fears that he’ll lose you. 

“I know,” he answers softly, sounding unmistakably embarrassed. “Forgive me. Sometimes…sometimes I still struggle to believe that someone like you chose someone like me.”

Your free hand is instantly cupping his cheek and your thumb is caressing his flushed skin. Does he know that you feel the exact same way? “I will always choose you,” you tell him firmly. 

He hasn’t even been yours for a year, but you know with unwavering certainty that you would follow this man to the ends of the earth and beyond. 

Loki presses his cheek into your palm and leans in to steal another chaste kiss from your lips. “My darling mortal,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips that has you groan. “My beautiful girl.” 

You can’t look away as he expertly begins to build you up. You’re lost to the pretty gleam of his green eyes as they hold yours and how stray strands of ink black hair fall to frame his face; lost to the way his jaw falls slack when you roll your hips to meet his and clench around his cock; lost to how your name falls like spring rain from his lips, like it’s the only word he’ll ever need to know. 

The edge crests like a wave in your core within minutes, each ripple making you dig your heels into his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, deeper. Your climax is bubbling white hot in the pit of your stomach, promising to drown you in pleasure like you’ve never known if you can just tip over the edge. 

“Loki…,” you cry, twisting a hand into his hair for leverage. “Loki…I’m ready…please!”

His hands grips yours like a vice. “Look at me,” he pleads, and your eyes quickly settle back on his. “Cum for me, my darling.” 

With five words, you go soaring off the edge. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, each blinding wave of pleasure submerging you deeper until tiny white stars begin to dance at the edges of your vision. It’s all consuming and so powerful that it robs you of almost all your senses, though you’re vaguely aware of Loki burying his face in your neck as his own climax pulls him under. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

As the final ripples of your release fade in the aftermath, you can hear Loki panting in your ear. You untangle your hand from his hair to stroke it and turn your head to press a light kiss to his temple. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s all you're capable of saying as you lie boneless on the bed, still basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Fuck.” Loki echoes, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. 

You burrow happily into his side and feel him drape an arm around your shoulders. His heartbeat is still thundering beneath your ear - something that makes pride blossom in your stomach. 

“Darling?” Loki speaks up after only a minute of silence. 

“Hmm?” you hum back, excitement already beginning to fizz between your legs. 

“I’d like to do that again…if you don’t mind.”

[cower-before-power]

Holy, Holy, Lover Divine

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: You've never felt worthy of praise, until it's Gale kneeling at your feet.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, religious imagery, Gale may get a bit blasphemous ha

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: Just another little Gale ficlet because I love him so much and this idea has been in my head for ages. Thanks for reading!

In this moment, you feel divine.

The term has followed you around, exaltations such as “saviour”, or “goddess” leaving the lips of those you’d saved. But it had never felt right, never felt like such praise should be heaped upon a mere mortal. Right place, right time, is what you always assumed should be your words. A simple soul who simply had the means to do what needed to be done. Hardly god-like, hardly worthy of the celestial.

But here, in the privacy of your bedchamber, under the gaze of your beloved, you finally understand that you are holy.

“You are beautiful,” Gale breathes, dark eyes roving over your face, your body, “I swear, there is no more magnificent creature on this plane or any other.” You feel your skin heat beneath your new nightgown, a flimsy scrap of gossamer lace you’d chosen with him in mind. It seems to be well appreciated.

“Don’t let the gods hear such blasphemy,” you murmur, wanting to both further expose yourself to him as well as shyly hide away, “a few of them might disagree.”

Gale shrugs, and you watch the motion of his broad shoulders greedily. “Let them hear me. I no longer care what she….what any of them think of me, of who and what I devote myself to. That right was lost long ago.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you are not surprised. Magic may still be bound to a goddess, but your lover has long stopped bending a knee. Prayers are offered not out of love, but duty, necessity. He gives thanks for the Weave, for spells and knowledge. But he hungers for her treasures no more.

She has long lost his piety, and you do not complain.

“Oh?”, you say coyly, shifting so your gown slides further up your thighs. You do not miss Gale’s eyes following the movement intently, and your skin burns with want. “And what are you devoted to now, Gale of Waterdeep? Where does your worship lie?”

Gale strides towards you, slow and measured, like a cat waiting to pounce. You know what he will say, but you want to hear it all the same. You want to bathe in it, this new feeling of righteousness, of being the idol of such great love and passion. This man makes you feel as if you have wings on your back and a halo over your head.

You vow you will not squander it.

“I am in service of a new goddess now,” he says, and mirth twinkles in his lust-glazed eyes. Your lips quirk upward-your wizard of words is about display his prowess.

“This,” he gestures to the room you share, to the bed you’ve come together in more times than you can count, “this is my temple. The sacred place I give my humble sacrifices, make my loving prayers, pledge my undying service.”

He’s close enough to touch now, bare chest within reach of your gluttonous fingers. Before you can grasp what you crave, his catches your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press small kisses to your fingertips.

“These are my offerings,” he guides your hand to touch his temple, down to his chest, and further, further, until your finger brush over his desire. You whimper eagerly. “My mind, my heart and my body, all given freely and eagerly to please the one who has saved me time and time again from my own folly.”

He drops your hand and nudges your legs apart, sinking to his knees as he slots himself between them. You think you might combust with how hot the flame of passion is burning within you. Gale never fails to set you on fire from the inside out, but it seems tonight he aims to upstage himself.

“This is my altar,” his voice grows more sinful, his eyes even darker, “the place I will kneel in reverence eternal. Day after day, night after night, I will worship here, a thrall in my Lady’s service. For as long as she will have me.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your inner thigh. You mewl softly, threading your fingers through his silky hair. Encouraged by your ragged breaths, he roams the giving flesh freely, littering your thighs with warm, bruising kisses.

“These are my hymns, my canticles of homage. I will bestow them upon every inch of this heavenly flesh. As many and as often as my Lady allows."

A gentle, teasing kiss is placed over your smallcothes. You gasp and tug him closer, a spark of white hot pleasure shooting up your spine.

“Gale,” you beg, thinking you may just go mad from his teasing, his honeyed words. “Gale, please-“

But instead of continuing, Gale pulls back and surges upwards, capturing your mouth in a heady kiss. You delightedly take what you are given, groaning as his taste explodes on your tongue. You will never get enough of kissing him, you decide. Gale always kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. Like he's trying to merge not only your bodies, but your very souls as well.

It never fails to set you on fire.

“This is my baptism,” he pants as he breaks your kiss, fingers flexing on your thighs, barely concealed restraint pulled taught like a bowstring. “I am cleansed of my sins, my foolish ideals, my bitter and lonely existence. To feel my Lady's love and desire in every kiss, every touch, every time I am inside of her- it is to be born anew."

Gale does not stay parted from you for long; his lips soon find their way to your neck, his fingers brushing your sensitive skin reverently.

And you are drowning. You whine and whimper and mumble intelligible pleas as your lover ravishes you with lovebites and praises. You fingers tangle in his hair and you pull-the groan that rumbles from his throat nearly makes your eyes kiss the back of your skull.

“Let me worship you,” Gale moans into your skin, pushing the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. His mouth ghosts over the tops of your breasts. Gooseflesh rises in it wake. "Let me show you my supplication."

"As if you aren't already," you giggle breathlessly, falling back on the bed as Gale crawls over you. You welcome the heat of his body as it hovers above yours, close but not nearly close enough.

"Oh, you know I can do so much more," he grins wolfishly, eager hands helping you to slip off your nightgown. When you are spread nude before him, he slides out of his own trousers, laughing as your eager hands grope at every inch of bare skin they can reach.

"Shall I love you now, my Lady?" he asks, settling between your legs. A gentle hand cups your cheek, and you melt into the tender touch. "It is all I desire."

You brush a stray lock of hair away from his beautiful brown eyes. Happiness bleeds through the air around you, encasing the two of you in a world all your own. A sanctum most sacred and blessed.

"Love me then,” you sigh dreamily, “love me, and know how much I love you in return, you darling, wonderful, worthy man.”

And oh, how you are adored! How your lover makes your body and soul sing, more radiant and joyous than a choir of angels. How he plays your desire over and over, bliss unending, until you are left boneless and spent, a puddle of happiness in his arms.

And as you lay cradled carefully against Gale, enveloped in his ardor, you feel as if you are weightless. There is no more stain upon your soul, no mortal tarnish on your skin. No fear, no insecurity, no wondering. You are eternal. You are blessed.

You are divine.

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, Trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, Trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—with you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[mirandasidefics]

hi!!

can i request poly!bat boys x plus sized reader?

if you're comfortable writing about children, could you write a lil one shot about them just taking care of their children throughout a busy and chaotic day and then the 4 of them head to bed for the night and reminisce on their days before children?

(like they love their children to death and wouldn't trade them for the world, but they still acknowledge that their kids are WORK [but judging by the parents, they're not surprised 😭] and not for the weak)

Adventures in Parenting (miniseries)

1. Chaos and All

Pairing(s): Poly! Bat Boys x Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning(s): None really. This is mostly fluff and parenting chaos.

Author’s Note: The more I wrote this one-shot, the more I want to turn this into a small little series. So, if anyone else has requests for this family set up send them in! I didn’t do the multiple mates with this Polyship, I hope that’s okay. I also used my youngest nephew as inspiration for the twins. He is a ball of chaos and I fully believe he is the mortal embodiment of Loki. I love him. Some of these events also may or may not be based on actual incidents that happened within my own household. Don’t worry, no one was injured, and consequences were appropriately implemented. Raising children is not for the weak!  

ACOTAR Masterlist Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

“JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” The echo of your roar reverberated along the stone halls of the House of Wind. It was quickly followed by two distinct sets of giggles. Cassian and Azriel, having returned early from Wind Haven, overheard the slew of curses flowing from your lips.

Soon, two boys rounded the corner and immediately squealed in excitement upon seeing Cassian. The large Illyrian bent down to his knees as the pair of 6-year-olds raced towards him. Effortlessly, he picked them both up, blowing a raspberry against each of their cheeks. The children were absolutely delighted. That was until you came around the corner following them. Your expression was far from amusing. With a hand on your rounded belly, you came to a stop before the males and your shared children.

“Warren, are you tormenting your poor mama?” Cassian asked.

“No Papa.” 

“Yes.” 

The twins spoke simultaneously. Azriel had to suppress his laugh. Your eyes burned with ire.

“Mama’s being mean!” Warren stated, pointing his little index finger at you. You raised your eyebrow at his boldness.

“Oh, I’m being mean now?” You crossed your arms, your son merely copying your stance. “Do you want to tell Dada and Papa what you did? Or should I?” The two children remained silent.

“Alright then, you had your chance,” You huffed. “Mama is being mean because she had to put out the fire you set in the bathroom!” The two boys shrank within Cassian’s arms.

“They did what now?” Azriel’s expression hardened.

“You heard right. They thought it was okay to play with the candle I had burning in the bathroom,” You explained, making your way over to the Shandowsinger, “A candle that was only lit because Ryder complained about Warren stinking up the toilet!” The twins giggled to themselves. You recognized the mirthful gleam in Cassian's eyes as he tried to maintain a serious expression. It was clear that you were at your wits end. And the stress wasn’t good for the baby in your belly, which was due within the month. Azriel moved to stand behind you, and once in place he wrapped his arms around you and underneath your belly. With the slightest of movements, he supported the weight for you. He could feel the relief wash over you. From over your shoulder, he leveled a stern glare at the boys.

“Well Mama,” Cassian started, “What’s on your mind for a fitting consequence?”

“For these two I honestly don’t know any more,” You tried to keep the hormone fueled frustration tears at bay. “A week with no dessert seems too light, but a literal grounding- a week of no flying-seems cruel. I leave it to you males. They don’t listen to me anyway.”

“I’ll be the first to agree,” Azriel’s words were careful. “They need to understand how dangerous playing with fire can be. One of you could have been seriously hurt.” You placed your hands over Azriel’s in comfort.

“I think the first thing that needs to be done is an apology,” Cassian finally set the twins back down. “Boys, apologize to your Mother.” His tone was stern and unyielding. The voice of a General. That tone always stirred something in you. Azriel’s nose brushed along the side of your neck, and you felt his lips curve up in a smile. Damn your hormones.

“Sorry Mama,” their tiny voices murmured in unison. Cassian shooed them away and back to the playroom. He quickly kissed your lips before following them. You were at a disadvantage when it came to the wild energy of your twins. Rhysand and Azriel could only chuckle to themselves half the time, filling you in on stories of Cassian’s own behaviors growing up. Unfortunately, the two boys had begun to act out ever since your eldest son went to train with the Darkbringers. You didn’t want him to be exposed to the cruelty of Hewn City, but Rhysand insisted upon some type of military training. And since he was your only child born without wings the elite unit of the Court of Nightmares was his best option.

“We’ll take care of the kids,” Azriel whispered against your neck. “Why don’t you get some rest?” You nodded, rubbing along his hands still holding up your belly. He carefully let go, and you groaned at having to support the weight on your own again.

He followed you to your bedroom and helped you settle into what surely had to be the largest bed in existence. After tucking you in underneath one of the deep mahogany throw blankets, he quietly left the room. You could faintly hear your children’s laughter as they played with their father, the joyful noise allowing you to drift off into a peaceful nap.

Hours later you had awoken to the sound of the bedroom door opening. You reached to turn on the faelight near the bed and turned to face the entrance to the room. Rhysand stood near the door, looking sheepish at having woken you. You smiled at seeing your third lover.

“How did doling out the punishment go?” Slowly you turned from your left side onto your back. Rhysand continued to make his way across the room, removing his shirt as he approached the bed.

“No dessert for the week, per Mama’s orders,” He supplied. “And all their toys are being gathered up by Cass and Az as we speak. Well, they get to keep their favorite stuffed toy for sleeping.”

“All of the toys!” You sat up straight. “Rhys are you trying to drive me insane? What are they going to do all day?” The door to the bedroom squeaked on its hinges, the light from the hall revealing Cassian.

“They’ll be in Wind Haven,” Cassian stated as he strode into the bedroom. “With me.”

“They’re too young to start training!” You shouted, which seemed to displease the babe inside you as it kicked against what you could only assume was your kidney. Your hand went directly to the spot and your eyes fluttered closed at the discomfort. Rhysand moved to sit behind you.

“They will not be training,” Rhysand reassured, setting a leg on either side of you before encouraging you to lean back against his chest.

“They will be helping the wounded males with some of their daily tasks,” Cassian finished. “At least tasks that they are capable of doing.” You worried at your bottom lip. It would be a valuable experience for them to have those interactions. However, most of the wounded received said injuries during a fight of some kind. You hoped the twins wouldn’t get the wrong ideas and start to romanticize war and violence. Mother above that was the last thing you needed!

“If it makes you feel better, they will be assisting the shopkeepers and not the battle heroes' ' Rhys said, kneading the muscle around your right hip.

“Additionally, for each task they help with they earn a toy back,” Cassian added. He lounged across the foot of the bed.

“That all sounds more than fair,” You took a sharp inhale as Rhysand’s knuckle rubbed against a particularly painful spot. The pressure against the knot hurt, but also relieved the growing ache. Your muscles had become so tight from carrying the extra weight of your unborn child. You turned your head back to face him and kissed his cheek.

This little one in your womb would place you with five children. Five. You had agreed to a total of three pregnancies. One for each of the males you loved so fiercely. But Cassian just had to sire twins. And then Rhysand insisted on performing the Great Right at the most recent Calanmai. Making this fourth pregnancy completely unexpected. Especially since you also laid with Cassian and Azriel that night. You also had no clue which of the three males was the biological father. But that didn’t really matter in the long run. While each male had their biological offspring, they raised all the children as if they were their own blood. A sudden realization hit you like the cold winter winds in Illyria.

“What about after?” You asked. “I love my children, but we are outnumbered.”

“What if Al-” Rhysand started.

“No, don't send for Aldrin, he’s 15 and just now settling into figuring out what type of person he wants to become. I won’t place the weight of being a caregiver on him. I need one of you here, especially when the baby is born.”

“I will stay,” Azriel offered entering the space as well. He was carrying your current youngest, Aria, in his arms.

“Did she have another nightmare?” You reached your arms out to her, but Azriel didn’t lower her down to you. Instead, he sat in the rocking chair with Aria still in his arms. Her wings were tucked in tight against her back. Her head rested against Azriel’s shoulder; her large green eyes open yet still looking between each of her parents. She was always so quiet.

“No, she saw me and just wanted to be held for a while,” He pushed the rocking chair back and forth using the balls of his bare feet.

“Like father like daughter,” You chuckled. The room settled into a comfortable silence. Cassian at your feet, rubbing them and your swollen ankles. Rhysand at your back, continue his own massage of your lower back. You were in your own personal heaven as you watched Aria from the spot on the bed. Watched as her eyelids drooped before fully closing. Slowly Azriel stood from his seat and carried the 2-year-old to bed. When he returned, Cassian was now sprawled on your right side, Rhysand still sitting behind you.

“It feels like it's been years since we’ve all had a quiet moment like this,” You broke the silence, closing your eyes and leaning onto the male behind you.

“True, so why did you go and ruin it,” Cassian said in jest. However, he quickly yowled in pain from Azriel hitting his arm.

“We certainly have a rowdy bunch of younglings to contend with,” Rhysand hummed, his fingers tracing up and down your arms.

“As I said before,” Azriel began his own nightly routine of readying for bed, “I will stay with you when the baby arrives.”

“What about-”

“If there is need of a spy, we have others that can complete whatever mission I need,” Rhysand advised. “He will be here to assist when either Cassian or I am busy.” You were so grateful for these males.

“And on the bright side, soon they won’t be as…energetic,” Cassian’s devilish smile spread across his face, “And we can go back to more grown-up activities.” You couldn’t hold back the laugh. The other two males just rolled their eyes.

"Need I remind you three, that our grown-up activities are exactly what created those lovely little terrors we call our children,” You gave Cassian a pointed stare.

“While that wasn’t what I was referring to I’m certain we can always accommodate our female’s more carnal desires,” He tried to defend himself. You scoffed, doing your best to hide the flush that bloomed across your cheeks.

“I agree with Cassian,” Rhys started. “While I miss the days before children, those days will return faster than we can fathom. And I am completely content in being present for what we have now. Chaos and all.”  

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

[forlix]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・767 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・felix x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, established relationship, they're in love your honor, pt. 2 of me being very normal about paris lix

𝟬𝟮:𝟮𝟭 — The stars hang over your heads like rice wine dripping into a navy basin. Paris sprawls over your shoulders like a stretching sphinx. Yet the world, in all its rare, tranquil beauty, does not exist.

Nothing exists except for you. You, with your hood pulled over your head and the drawstrings tightened so the fabric scrunches around your wind-bitten cheeks. You, with a few strands of hair escaping from the cotton ring, catching on your eyelashes as they flutter, slipping between your lips as you speak. You, you, you.

Sometimes, Felix experiences something strange. It happened when you walked into the kitchen with puffy eyes and terrible posture, a spot of toothpaste on your chin. It happened at the sight of the warm smile you gave the barista as you ordered at your favorite cafe. It happened when he found you faceplanted into your keyboard at 3 A.M., the last fifteen pages of your research paper comprising nothing but the letter ‘g.’

And it happens now, as you recount the embarrassing situation you found yourself in that afternoon, sporting a smile that splits your face into two. Not down the middle, but slightly off to the side, the way it does when you’re really laughing.

Cue the telltale signs: an explosive blossoming in his chest, a mounting tightness in his throat, a feeling like he’s been ripped out of his body and, from a distance, finally recognizes himself for what he is.

A mortal man tasked to contain the galaxy that is his love, every sun and moon, every asteroid, every scrap of space debris belonging to you.

How he hasn’t yet burst at the seams is beyond him.

“I complimented the cab driver’s ass,” you say.

He blinks at you. “What?”

“I was trying to—”

You’re overcome by a breathless giggle, your interlocked hands swinging between your bodies.

“I was trying to thank him. Merci beaucoup, right? And then he looks at me like I’m crazy and drives away, and then it hits me.”

“Oh.” Felix says, and he, too, starts to smile, his mirth melting his face like a spreading flame. “Oh, no.”

“Merci beau cul,” you sigh. “I told him merci beau cul.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“A Freudian slip?”

“No wa—”

Your expression goes suddenly contemplative.

“Maybe, actually.”

His bark of laughter echoes around the empty grounds, accompanied with your insistence of you should’ve seen that thing, babe. He takes your word for it.

Your jetlagged adventure reaches climax some ten minutes later. You let go of Felix’s hand to run the rest of the distance, heels kicking up puffs of dust. The land silhouette sinks away, replaced by golden speckles that trickle into his field of vision until they’re all he can see.

At the hill’s pinnacle, you stand in silence. The strands of hair floating around you prior now thrash in the wintry winds, and you’ve swapped your wild grin for a stupefied gape. Your eyes glisten like mirror lakes, the city before you reflected in the pools of your pupils, cordoned within the shores of their lids.

There it is again. That familiar feeling of being torn away, of being crushed by the tonnage of his amour. He opens his mouth because he needs to, because he’ll burst at the seams if he doesn’t, just barely keeping the tremble in his voice at bay. 

“Can I take a picture of you?”

You look at him, confused.

“Only me?” He nods, and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

And you do, with everything in you.

You turn your back to the nightscape. He positions himself a few feet away and slots his eye against the viewfinder. The lighting does you no favors with how it plunges you into shadow; you do Paris no favors with the radiance of your smile. Click.

Soonafter, you drift back to his side, plant a soft kiss to his cheek. He gazes at the live preview without a word, clutching his camera as tightly as if it's a piece of a shooting star.

Gently, you dust a finger beneath his chin. He lifts his eyes to meet yours, discovers your face meager centimeters away.

You will never know what you do to Felix, not to the fullest extent. But there are times, he thinks, when you have your suspicions, and this is one of them.

“You okay?” You whisper, your hand lifting to the curve of his cheek, and he slides his own around your wrist, the plush of his thumb nestling over your pulse. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, an understatement of prodigious proportions.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support.

[spilycoris]

i take this au very seriously

[p0ssywhippedcream]

I have another tt idea I've had brewing, and since you seem eager...

Same set up, apollo x newlyimmortal! wife reader where she sees him in his true, immortal form for the first time. Idk, it's an interesting concept imo, but I hate to milk you for 2 reqs in a row!

Thanks again ✌️🩷!!!

"That's it?"

"W-what do you mean that's it?!" Apollo resolidifies into his usual look just to dramatically gawk at you.

"Well, I was expecting more." You shrug from where you stand on incinerated grass. He took you to a desolate field for this, and in truth it didn't look nearly as impressive as he made it out to be, even if it was a sight to behold.

"More?" He yells again, exaggerating his baffled demeanor. "I just gave you a whole light show!"

"I dunno... could've been cooler." At this point you're just milking it as you fake a yawn behind a hand that stiffles giggles when he throws his arms around and stutters.

"You- I- This is- You're being ridiculous! That beautiful demonstration of power has killed mortals!"

You have to bite your lip to help from laughing when you retort, "What a lame way to die."

"Sunshine, I swear-!" And it's now that he notices the shake of your mouth and the rosy tint in your cheeks as you hold back chortles. "You- You're joking?"

You burst out laughing, tears easily flowing from your eyes as you double over. Apollo watches you with an unimpressed look on his face as he conceals the quick smile that comes from seeing you happy.

When you finally gain control of yourself, you approach him and rub his arms with mirth in your eyes. "It was very cool, baby. Very impressive." You assure him.

Despite his eye roll, a proud smirk takes his lips anyway. "Yeah, yeah, I'm aware."

[eskir]

formal dance - vampire!sunday x reader

yada yada, i haven’t written for sunday in a while (also the hsr sunday reddit is a cult, somehow??? (i’m not against it tho lmao)) but have this. i have some world building ideas and may expand, but for now enjoy a little writing from me (and my eepy self) gn!reader as always

the tales of vampires, sunday had discovered over the course of his new life, were quite misguided. perhaps that could be due to the tales originating from many amber eras ago, but a sly smile was still brought to his face when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

he was quite fortunate, sunday had thought to himself before. it would be annoying if he were unable to peer at himself and adjust his clothes accordingly: smoothing out any creases and tucking his hair so that no strands were sticking out. he had to look his best. even if mr. gopher wood was no longer around, sunday still clung onto those old habits and teachings.

adjust the glasses on the table, eyes wandering over the ballroom critically, and a polite smile on his face as he wandered around. although, the word wander did imply a certain lack of direction, so no, sunday only appeared to be wandering. in reality, he was mingled with key figures of the main five family figures of penacony, simple greetings and the like, before standing by your side.

he hands a flute of champagne to you, your favorite, with a coy smile. “are you enjoying yourself my dear?” a simple question, yet all too formal, but that was simply the nature of these kinds of gatherings.

“yes,” a genuine smile on your face, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you gesture at your outfit and then back at his, “which dressmaker did you employ this time? give my compliments to them, the feeling of the fabric is otherworldly.”

sunday looks at you fondly, and you’re struck with the knowledge that his affection is only shown vaguely, through gestures or purposeful micro expressions. “they are old pieces, just well maintained with multiple alterations for your size,” he chuckles, “i’ll give your compliments to the one who did the alterations.”

your champagne glass is half empty as he plucks it out of your hand and onto the server’s plate passing by. “but enough about that, let’s dance.”

there was only a moment for your eyes to widen and protest at the disappearing glass before he whisks you onto the dance floor with such graceful movements that makes your stumble seem purposeful. he is a vampire, that fact is brought to the very forefront of your brain when he brings his face close to your neck. your heart skips a beat, but then you are twirled around the room. you manage to eventually catch up with the tempo of the song, your feet now moving alongside his as he shoots you a closed eye smile.

he’s glad that you adapted well, and he didn’t mean any harm when taking you into the dance floor, that much is apparent when you look into his golden navy eyes. mirth and joy swirl in his eyes, in fact, alongside that very familiar fondness as you both lose yourself to this dance. it ensnares you both in its joyous grasp, like the way fae entrance foolish mortals. but one of you isn’t mortal, and the other isn’t foolish enough to not stop when the musicians take their pause.

applause. loud and raucous. it’s been far too long since sunday has last danced.

sunday’s eyes crinkle slightly as he looks towards you, his hand around your waist as you both stand up from the bow. “thank you all,” and back is his polite smile, those closed eyes and perfect aura, “i hope you all will enjoy the festivities as much as i enjoyed dancing with my beloved.”

there is only a slight chuckle from him, but the rest of the crowd quickly imitates it, before the chatter resumes and the attention is brought elsewhere.

“come, i have a surprise for you,” he murmurs against your ear, pulling away with a grin, his sharp fangs showing, “and i promise that it won’t be as unpleasant as me guiding you off for a dance.”

you snort out a laugh, shaking your head as sunday had already brought you several paces from the ballroom. there’s no one else around here, so you aren’t forced to put on airs anymore, a fact you merrily take advantage of. “i think you owe me for that surprise,” you roll your eyes at him playfully, “and don’t tell me to come when you’ve already whisked me out of the ballroom and to the front of our room sunday.”

he huffs with a smile, opening the door and closing it behind you two. “well i’ll make it up to you in the coming weeks,” he breathed, moving closer to you as his wings brushed against your face, “but for now let’s relax.”

his hands gently take your jacket off of you, folding it neatly and draping it over the chair nearby, “alright?”

a soft hum from you, “alright love.”

and when the night had already ended, the bright sun rising to the occasion, you two were already tucked away in the shadows of your room, small smiles and intermingling breaths.

[starrynightsxo]

holly black is so cool because she named the first book of tfota as "the cruel PRINCE" which really encapsulates the immaturity of cardan at that point with his lack of understanding of mortals and such hence his mistreatment towards jude and taryn. she then goes on to title the second book "the wicked KING" which, to me, I feel shows a incredible amount of growth especially at the end where he exiles jude as a ploy to get her to pardon herself (which obviously does not go in his favour) causing jude to be the one to deem him wicked although later we find out otherwise. we then have the third book titled "the queen of nothing" which, in my opinion, is a subtle nod to the queen of mirth situation not so long ago but this time jude becomes the queen of all of the fae when all she really wanted in her life was to be able to live peacefully. her becoming the queen after all her hardships and now prevailing is really special and shows just how deep holly black thought to make jude such an icon.

[kay-skycotl]

AN: hello, this is my first time writing a short fic so enjoy ^^

Longan x Reader

Dragon form

Warning: Fluff

—-///—-///—-///—-///—-///-

After sometime being in a relationship with Longan, you always wondered what it would be like to see their dragon form, since they never had shown you. So after a few begs (a lot), they finally let you see their dragon form. You knew their dragon form will be big, but not really that big. So you’re standing there admiring their ivory colored with gold accents with an awe expression

“Was this all you wanted to see little one?” They asked with their usual stoic tone but they knew that there was more underneath them showing their dragon form.

As you hesitantly approached their form, you carefully placed a hand over their scales, gently caressing it. You never expected to be quite smooth but also a bit cold.

“Woah” you mumbled as you continued caressing their scales with your hands. Even if you felt so excited about this, you decided to keep it to yourself for now

They didn’t want to admit that they’re enjoying it, so they remained quietly relaxing by your touch against their scales.

You soon noticed how they lowered their head near you, realizing that they quite like this, so you quietly continued gently caressing their scales with your hands. It wasn’t long until you noticed how they shifts their massive form enclosing you more as their forelegs move to encircle you. You felt how the scales pressed against you, their smoothness contrasted by the strength and power they hold.

And you started to feel quite comfortable like this as you didn’t feel like moving, you never expected that this could be quite comforting.

“You should try be more in your dragon form like this than your cookie form, it’s quite comfortable” You mumbled feeling quite relax by the sensation of their form against your body.

“Comfortable, you say? How amusing” they murmured, the sound of their voice resonating through their chest and reverberating through your body. “I am a powerful dragon, not some mere comfort object”

Despise their words, they didn’t pull out from the embrace, their massive frame remaining wrapped around you “I will heed your suggestion for now, but do not get used to this, little one”

“Mmm, too late I am already too comfortable” you mumbled in response letting a soft chuckle

They chuckle back softly, their chest rumbling with amusement. “I suppose I have no choice but to indulge you further, now that you have grown so comfortable in my embrace” they said, their voice laced with dry humor. "But do not forget, little one, that I am not some mere cuddle toy."

With a grace belying their massive size, they shifted their body slightly, their scales gliding against your body in a soothing motion.

“Mmm you’re right, you’re now a massive pillow” You muffled quietly as you felt so relaxed in their embrace

They let out a huff of amusement at your words, their breath hot against your skin. "A pillow, you say?" they responded, their voice filled with mirth. "I suppose I have been reduced to a mere object of comfort for a small mortal. How amusing" Despite their tongue-in-cheek response, the dragon didn't pull away from the hug, their massive form remaining wrapped around you as they allowed you to use them as a makeshift pillow.

“Mhm, you’re gonna attack me with cuddles and I’ll be so defeated” You said quietly as you started to feel quite drowsy

"Then prepare yourself, the onslaught of affection approaches"

With exaggerated slowness, they pulled you closer, their massive form enclosing you in a cocoon of warmth and scales. They began to gently nuzzle against you, their cool scales gliding against your skin in a soothing manner.

You let a soft sigh as your body felt so relax to even think about moving. “You’re too comfortable Longan” You mumbled quietly feeling their form around you.

They chuckled softly at your sleepy words, their voice filled with affectionate amusement. "You enjoy my embrace, little one?" they rumbled, their voice quite soothing. "How delightful. Perhaps I should make it a habit of holding you like this more often." They said as they began to pull you closer, their massive form creating an even more enveloping embrace. Their cool scales pressed gently against your skin, offering a smooth surface for you to rest against. The heat emanated from their body, creating a cozy and comforting ambience as they slowly started to fell asleep with you.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Thinking about Succubus!Reader who appears in Ghost's room a few hours before dawn 🫦

You always get summoned to the loneliest individuals among mortal men, and never meet the same male twice (otherwise they would know it wasn't, in fact, simply a wet dream)

But this male is not like the others…

He's wearing a mask in his sleep, and the skull reminds you of the familiar horrors you sometimes see on your plane. He is both scary and inviting, truly a sight for sore eyes, strong and burly, sleeps naked, like lonely men almost always do. He's already hard, and stirring in his sleep – it doesn't matter that he's fully awake because he will think it's only another dream when he wakes up.

This man doesn't say anything as you climb on top of him, only welcomes you by grabbing your hips with hard, demanding hands. He adores you openly with his stare as if you're some rare treat that dropped in his lap and he's not going to ruin his luck by asking questions.

His cock is broad and blunt, just like the rest of him. Due to your powers you can feel his loneliness and pain, the depth of hollow sorrow inside him. He's like a dried well, waiting for a summer rain that never comes.

But when you take him inside and start to ride him, you can feel something else: a wave of hope, even a flicker of mirth. It's like a drop of warm milk in a pool of a dark, murky pond.

You know you have the power to bring brief moments of happiness to these mortals through copulation. You're a dream, a fantasy, a connection deeper than years of any dedicated bond, but the emotion inside this man swells to such painful heights that it causes you to cry out in pleasure and pain.

He grips you harder as you ride him through the waves of ecstasy, the strong hips under you buck up as he tries to get deeper inside the sanctuary only you can provide. You're used to taking men, riding them until they beg under you, but this time, you have to take support of his broad chest.

This man in a skull mask takes you – and you succumb to his lead like a supple young demon, watching how the plates of his chest tense with exertion under your palms. The dark eyes hold you captive like he's the demon here.

He gifts his seed with a deep, anguished roar; it erupts from under the skull and sends ripples across your scalp, and even if you don't possess the gift of reading minds, you can almost hear this mortal's thoughts: fucking hell you feel good, so tight and wet around him, soft and bloody sweet there on top if him, giving him the night of his life…

He holds you after as you lie on top of his strong body, limp and soft and purring. His pain is diluted now, the warm milk spreads inside the pond, and you feel the thick, calloused pads of his fingers caress your spine and neck. You breathe in sync like you've always belonged together, here, just like this.

Dawn is upon you, and the laws of this world and yours demand that you go back. You never tell the males that you're about to leave: it would be useless to listen to their pleas. But this time, you feel the desperate need to explain yourself, or at least say something and not just vanish like it was all just a dream.

"I have to go," you whisper in his language – you haven't talked in ages and are surprised at how smooth your voice sounds; like warm, soothing music.

His grip on you tightens, and you feel a fleeting sadness and despair, far deeper than any words can convey.

"Stay for a bit," he asks; his voice is deep, gravelly, almost like a soft command. You know without tapping into his emotions that you're the first being this man has ever asked to stay.

He's already torn between dream and waking, senses that you're far more real than he originally thought. It's dangerous – you've never, ever stayed this long. No one has ever held you like this after copulating.

You reach to brush your fingertips over the skull, tracing the bone and wishing you could touch his real face. It's also a spell that slowly sends him back to sleep and releases him from your illusion; the woman who slowly dissolves until his arms embrace nothing, until he will wake up holding only himself.

"Don't... go..." is the last thing you hear before he falls asleep, and you fall a thousand miles back to where you came from.

Back on your plane, you feel the first tear in centuries escape the corner of your eye. Your prayer, however, is the first one ever as you beg, beg for anyone who can hear you, to send you back to him, just one more time…

But who would hear the prayers of succubi?