#no muse so dealer's choice!

[growing-gems]

Getting Stuffed.

Despite their short size, the Ruby Squad could each put back their weight and then some. And at rapid speeds, like a pack of starved piranhas. Most of them ending up immobilized and having to be rolled around. Leggy being the one to keep some limited mobility.

[kxllerblond]

SHIPPY MEME CALL.

LIKE this post and I'll send you some more ship-orientated ask memes. Would prefer if we either have an established ship going or have hinted at one. If you want some specifically NSFW ask memes ahead of Sunday, reply with a 🔥 (fire) emoji.

[dymagamwedd]

@natophonetic gets a starter.

"oh, honestly, art, i'm so bored of the whole thing." stripping the crisp bowtie from his neck and flicking it at a waiting servant, lord hancock sighed. "everyone who says politics is good sport needs a good thrashing. if i have to hear one more thing about trade union congress or mining scabs, i'll vomit."

[hoshinierabareshimono]

"It hurts"

“...And I apologize for that,” Sephiroth nigh-interrupted the civilian. “Regardless, I need you to hold still and endure the pain. Infections are significantly more unpleasant.”

His deep voice rang with stern authority, a reflection of his rank as well as his expertise as a seasoned warrior. His movements were fast and fluid as he continued to clean and disinfect the civilian’s wound, entirely unfazed by the civilian’s protests.

This was far from the first time he had to patch up injured civilians nor would it be the last. For that reason, while he was not devoid of sympathy, detached professionalism had long become his default approach.

The events leading to this exchange, on the other hand, had him alert and focused.

“Tell me what happened,” Sephiroth demanded the instant he had completed his task by tying the bandage in place and casting another healing spell.

[voidfell]

General Tags

[moonselune]

Hi! May I request dealers choice on the crew + Astarion with a VERY minimally verbal, minimally expressive Tav and them realizing that Tav is actually /incredibly/ sweet and kind and understanding, they're just a lil strange and extra quiet <3 if this request doesn't interest you then feel free to disregard

I did the boys for this one and I love the concept!!

Gale:

The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes after a hard-won victory. Gale sat beside you near the campfire, the flames casting golden shadows on his thoughtful face. It had been a long day of travel, and the others were scattered about—some chatting, others already asleep. But here you were, seated together in a comfortable, companionable silence.

Gale had always been one to fill silences with musings or stories, often eager to share his thoughts with those around him. But tonight, he found himself glancing your way, curiously watching as you poked absentmindedly at the fire with a stick. You were so quiet, so restrained, and it fascinated him.

He had initially mistaken your silence for indifference, or perhaps shyness. But as the days stretched into weeks, he had begun to see the subtleties of your demeanor—the way your gaze lingered on the stars when the camp was asleep, the gentle attentiveness in your movements when someone needed help but didn’t ask. And tonight, as you sat beside him, he saw it again: that quiet care in the way you positioned yourself slightly closer to him than necessary, as though offering your presence without demanding his attention.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” Gale said softly, breaking the silence but keeping his tone gentle.

You turned your head to look at him, your expression unreadable but curious, your eyes reflecting the firelight like pools of still water.

“You’re… different,” he continued, choosing his words carefully. “Quieter than most. But not unfeeling, not cold. If anything, I think you might be the kindest person here. It’s just—well, you show it in ways I wasn’t prepared for.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, as though unsure how to take the observation, but you didn’t interrupt him.

He gestured toward the campfire. “For example, you always make sure the fire’s built just right so it lasts through the night. And earlier today, I saw you stop to pick up Karlach’s glove when she dropped it—she didn’t even notice, but you made sure it was back in her pack.”

Gale hesitated, then smiled. “And you brought me a cup of tea yesterday without saying a word. Just placed it beside me and walked away, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, one that he might have missed if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. You looked down, fiddling with the stick in your hand, clearly unused to such direct attention.

“It’s… endearing,” Gale added softly. “You’re endearing. And I think I’ve come to admire you all the more for it.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond, your gaze distant as you considered his words. Then, in your own quiet way, you leaned closer to him, just enough that your shoulder brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but for you, it was deliberate—a gesture of connection, of trust.

Gale felt his chest tighten, a warmth spreading through him that had little to do with the fire. He had expected words, perhaps an explanation or a deflection, but this—this understated act of affection—spoke volumes. You didn’t need grand declarations or elaborate displays. You simply… were. And that, he realized, was what made you so remarkable.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “For being you.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a small, soft smile, and nodded once before returning your gaze to the fire. Gale felt a grin tug at his own lips as he settled back beside you. In that moment, he understood: your sweetness, your kindness—they were there, just waiting to be noticed. And he would spend however long it took learning to see every quiet, wonderful part of you.

Astarion:

The night was calm, the camp quiet save for the distant chirping of crickets and the crackle of the fire. Astarion sat nearby, nursing a goblet of wine he’d stolen from the cellar of a long-forgotten ruin. It was more for the ritual than the taste—old habits, as he’d said with a faint smile. You were nearby, as always, your presence an anchor in the strange and often chaotic life the group led.

He wasn’t sure when he started speaking. Perhaps it was the comfortable silence, the way you sat there, calm and unhurried, that encouraged him. He’d been thinking about Cazador again—he so often was—and without quite realizing it, the words began to spill out.

“I suppose it’s strange,” he mused, his voice light but carrying an edge of bitterness. “Being free after so long under his shadow. It feels like… I’m still carrying him, in some way. Every decision, every thought—I can’t seem to separate them from him.”

He glanced at you, half-expecting a response. Most people, he’d learned, couldn’t resist cutting in. A platitude, a suggestion, a counterpoint. But you didn’t. You simply looked at him, your expression calm and open, as though urging him to go on.

It was unnerving at first. He was used to fighting for attention, for control over conversations, to prove he was clever or charming or worth listening to. But with you, none of that seemed necessary. He paused, testing the silence, and when you still didn’t speak, he continued.

“You know,” he said, his tone softer now, “when I first escaped, I thought freedom would feel… lighter. Like I’d cast off some great weight. But it’s heavier in some ways. The choices, the possibilities—they’re endless. And I’m not sure I trust myself to make the right ones.”

Again, he stopped, waiting. Your eyes met his, steady and clear, and though you didn’t say a word, he felt understood. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn’t experienced often—if ever. You weren’t dissecting him or trying to fix him. You were just… there, present and listening.

“You’re awfully quiet, aren’t you?” he said after a moment, tilting his head as he studied you. There was no malice in his tone, only curiosity.

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, measured. “I like hearing you.”

He blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of your words. “You like hearing me?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “You have a lot to say. It’s worth listening to.”

Astarion stared at you for a moment, unsure of how to respond. People had listened to him before, of course—but it was always performative, a game of courtly flirtation or manipulation. They listened to what they wanted to hear, not to him. But you… you listened like his words mattered, like he mattered.

A slow smile spread across his face, softening the sharp angles of his features.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost to himself. “So quiet, so… strange. But kind. Far kinder than I deserve, I think.”

He expected you to deny it, to reassure him, but instead, you simply offered a small, almost shy smile. It was disarming, the way you gave so little and yet managed to say so much.

For the first time in a long while, Astarion felt no need to fill the silence. He sat back, letting it settle around you both, a comfortable sort of quiet that he hadn’t realized he craved. After a while, he glanced at you again, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, his voice lighter now, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You tilted your head slightly, a silent question.

“Most people are so… loud,” he explained with a wry smile. “Always trying to prove themselves, to take up space. But you—” He gestured toward you, the motion almost reverent. “You don’t need to do any of that, do you? You’re just… you.”

Your smile widened just a fraction, and you gave a small shake of your head, as if to say you didn’t know how to be anything else. Astarion chuckled softly, a sound warm and genuine.

“I think I’m beginning to like it,” he admitted, leaning back against the log he’d claimed as his seat. “Though I’ll warn you—I’m not used to people being so sweet to me, or me reciprocating. You might ruin my reputation.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, though you didn’t reply. Instead, you simply reached over, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes—offering comfort, understanding, and a quiet kind of care that made Astarion’s chest ache in the best possible way.

For the first time in years, he felt seen. And it was terrifying, yes, but also… wonderful.

Wyll:

The camp had grown quieter as the evening stretched on, the crackling fire the only sound breaking the stillness. Wyll sat a little apart from the group, his polished boots resting near the fire’s warmth, his arms draped loosely over his knees. His usual mask of confident charm was absent tonight, replaced by something quieter, more introspective.

You sat nearby, as you often did, a steady presence that didn’t demand much from him. For weeks now, you had been close in proximity but distant in words, an enigma of sorts. Wyll wasn’t quite sure what to make of you at first—your silence had seemed aloof, even uninterested. But gradually, as the days bled into nights, he began to notice the things you didn’t say.

You didn’t speak over others in conversation, but you always seemed to listen deeply, your gaze steady and intent. You rarely offered compliments, but when you did, they were startlingly heartfelt. And when Wyll had stumbled in the aftermath of a fight, bruised and frustrated, it was you who had handed him a bandage, your hand brushing his briefly before you moved on without a word.

Now, as he sat by the fire, you approached, your steps soft but deliberate. You didn’t ask if you could join him—one of the many things he appreciated about you. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the log beside him, sitting close enough to feel the fire’s warmth but not crowding his space.

“You’re quiet tonight, reserved,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence but staying low. "Well, more than usual."

You glanced at him, your expression unreadable, then nodded once. A faint gesture of acknowledgment.

Wyll let out a small chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “That makes two of us, I suppose. A rare thing for the Blade of Frontiers, isn’t it?”

The title rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, but there was a flicker of something behind his words—weariness, perhaps, or a longing for something simpler. People were always eager to heap praise upon him, to listen to his heroic tales of vanquishing monsters and saving the innocent. They admired him for his bravery, for his charisma, for his relentless drive to do good. And while he appreciated it, there were moments when it felt like a weight he couldn’t set down.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes fixed on the fire. But then you reached into your pack and pulled something out—a small, neatly folded cloth. You placed it on the log between you and gently nudged it toward him with your fingertips.

Wyll blinked, curious, and unfolded it. Inside was a simple piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, nothing extravagant but clearly set aside with care. He glanced at you, his brows lifting in surprise.

“For me?” he asked softly.

You nodded, your expression still calm but your gaze steady. There was no grand explanation, no flowery words about why you’d thought to do it. Just the quiet act itself, unspoken but deeply thoughtful. Wyll found himself smiling, something warm unfurling in his chest.

“You know, people often throw grand gestures my way,” he said, turning the small meal over in his hands. “Praise, gifts, promises of favor. But this… this feels different. Better, somehow.”

Your lips quirked faintly, the smallest smile, and you gave a slight shrug, as if to say, It’s nothing.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “It’s not nothing. It’s… exactly what I needed.”

He tore a piece of the bread, savoring it as much for the taste as for the gesture behind it. Then he glanced at you again, his dark eyes filled with something unspoken.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve met before,” he admitted. “And I think that’s a gift, even if it’s one I’m still learning to understand.”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words, and then reached out—tentative, deliberate—to place a hand briefly over his. Your touch was warm, grounding, and though you pulled away quickly, the gesture lingered in the space between you.

Wyll chuckled again, softer this time. “You don’t need to say much, do you? Somehow, you always seem to know exactly what to do.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, the fire casting flickering shadows over your faces. Wyll found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did, the weight of his heroic persona slipping away. With you, he wasn’t the Blade of Frontiers or the hero of ballads. He was just Wyll—a man who had been given a moment of peace in your quiet, steady company.

Halsin:

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the forest clearing. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine. Halsin stood by a small stream, his hands resting on his hips as he watched the water bubble over smooth stones. He had led you here, eager to share one of his favorite places—a spot untouched by the chaos of the world, a place of pure serenity.

You sat nearby, your back against the wide trunk of an ancient tree, watching the interplay of light and shadow as the sun filtered through the canopy. You hadn’t said much since arriving, but then, you rarely did. Halsin had grown accustomed to your quiet nature, though it had taken him some time to understand it. At first, he had worried his stories or insights were unwelcome, his efforts to connect unreciprocated. But the longer he spent in your company, the clearer it became that your silence was not indifference but something else entirely.

You simply… listened. And you noticed things—details others might overlook. Like now, as your gaze lingered on a cluster of wildflowers swaying in the breeze, your lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Halsin said, his deep voice gentle as he followed your gaze. “I’ve always admired how the simplest things—flowers, sunlight, the song of a bird—can bring such joy.”

You turned your head toward him, your expression calm but thoughtful. Then, without a word, you stood and stepped toward the wildflowers. Kneeling carefully, you reached out to brush your fingers over the delicate petals, your touch reverent.

Halsin watched you, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite name. It was rare to find someone who shared his love for the natural world with such quiet intensity. Most people saw beauty in nature, yes, but few seemed to feel it the way you did—as though you were attuned to its rhythms, its quiet wisdom.

After a moment, you plucked one of the flowers—a pale blue blossom with a star-shaped center—and stood, turning back to him. You held it out, your movements unhurried, and waited for him to take it.

Halsin blinked, surprised, before stepping closer and accepting the flower.

“For me?” he asked, his voice touched with warmth.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his briefly before drifting back to the stream. There was no grand declaration, no explanation for the gesture. Just the flower, freely given, and the quiet companionship of the moment.

Halsin turned the bloom over in his hands, studying it as though it were a rare treasure.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful. As is this moment.”

He meant it. There was a simplicity to your company that he hadn’t realized he needed. So much of his life had been spent in action—protecting, leading, fighting. With you, there was no pressure to be anything more than himself, no expectation to fill the silence with words.

“You have a way of seeing the world,” he said after a moment, his gaze lingering on you. “A quiet reverence, as though every small thing matters. It’s… humbling. And it reminds me of why I do what I do.”

You glanced at him again, tilting your head slightly as though considering his words. Then, without speaking, you gestured toward a patch of sunlight filtering through the trees, where a family of deer grazed in the distance.

Halsin smiled, following your lead. Together, you stood in silence, watching the deer move through the clearing. The world felt still, alive yet peaceful, and he realized how rare such moments were.

“You’re a gift,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Not just to me, but to the world around you. You see it for what it is—whole and sacred.”

Your gaze flicked to him again, and this time, your lips curved into a soft, fleeting smile. It was a small thing, but to Halsin, it felt like a gift in itself—a glimpse of the sweetness that lay beneath your quiet exterior.

Hope you guys enjoyed this and it wasn't too repetitive, I did try to differentiate them - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 13)

A/N: i'm sorry yall, i feel like my posting is getting slower and slower. I know this a short one too but i've been so stressed with uni

WORD COUNT: 862 words

Series masterlist

Both Safia and Rose are waiting for you when you get back from your supper.

“Gods, i’m nearly ready for bed. I’m so tired.” You groan as you walk into the room but both of the girls can see clearly that you walk as if you’re much lighter than you have been for the past few weeks.

“Yes, princess. Your ride was very long today. You entirely skipped lunch.” Safia muses, fetching yours and her own needlework. She hands you yours before sitting on a settee across from the armchair you rest on.

“I suppose I did.” You murmur as you make yourself comfortable, not yet looking at the needlework.

“Your meal with Lord Stark seemed to perk you up.” Rose comments and Safia shoots her a pointed look for her impertinence. She always was the more bold one of the two. 

“I look happier because he said we should have my brothers over for a visit, not because I shared a meal with him.” You say sharply.

“That is wonderful news, princess!” Safia states politely but her joy is clearly genuine as well. She’s loved nothing more than playing with little Aegon and Viserys since her brother died.

“Yes, very wonderful.” Rose adds. It isn’t that she is unhappy with the news, she just senses that it isn’t the only reason you’ve come back to your chambers with such a smile on your face.

Rose is higher born than Safia and you can tell in these moments. She is much less frightened to speak her mind than the lowborn girl is even if she is only the daughter of a second born son whose house is nothing close to prominent. You’ve always liked that about her; Rose doesn’t let her station define her and that’s one of the reasons she’s your closest friend.

“You have other thoughts on your mind, Rose. Speak them.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep, princess.” She replies. The girl may be bold but she isn’t stupid. She knows how easy it is to hit a nerve when speaking of your relationship, or lack thereof, with Cregan.

“You’ve never had that problem before.” You point out and Safia smiles at the comment, looking back down at her needlepoint right away.

“I just sensed that you were getting along better with your husband. It pleases me to see you smile once in a while. It used to grace your face so often back in Dragonstone, and even in Kingslanding. Now, it seems as though you haven’t smiled for weeks.” it's a sad notion but you aren’t regretful of your coldness.

“I am the last woman in this world to sit down and take the hand they’ve been given by an unfair dealer.” You muse. The anger all feels justified, thinking of yourself as an avenging angel. “If I am compliant in my own misery then every other woman will follow suit... They’ll have no choice. I’m the second most powerful woman in the world and I had no choice.” You say solemnly.

“Change is coming, princess.” Safia starts. “It is just… slow.”

“Look at your mother. Westeros had not seen a queen rule in her own right before her.” Rose says.

“At this rate, our children won’t even see a fair world.” You reply.

“But the later generations will benefit.” Safia says optimistically. “Prince Jacaerys will see that it is continued.”

“Yes… Jacaerys.” You murmur bitterly. “Is it so wrong that I want to benefit from it? More could be done.”

The girls ignore the slight against your mother and Rose speaks again, “It could take… unfathomable amounts of violence to accomplish such a thing.”

“Who cares for the lives of men who are unfaithful to their ruler?”

“And those men’s children, wives, families, are innocent but if you kill the head of their house, they would never forget it. They might not directly call for vengeance but most would resent a radical ruler. People of status rarely care for radicality. It diminishes their power.”

“Death would extinguish it.” You murmur. The girls know you aren’t truly serious but such laxness in reference to violence discomforts them. ���Jacaerys will continue our mother’s progressions but that doesn’t make him any less of a man. He can’t truly understand.”

“I am sure Lady Baela will be of aid to him in that.” Safia adds thoughtfully.

But it could’ve been you aiding him. Though, the people would never chant your name the way they chant his.

“She will make a good queen one day.”

“Perhaps one day your brother will take you on as an advisor.” Rose suggests. She sees how badly you want control.

“If I’m not too busy tending to Stark’s children.” You scoff.

“They will be your children too, princess. I am sure you will love them as any mother loves their child.” Safia says kindly.

You ponder on her words for a moment, wondering if a mothers love if truly unconditional. Is there something inherent in childbirth that will make you fall in love with the babe that tears itself from your womb?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever love the children Cregan puts in your belly.

“Perhaps.” 

Comment to be added to taglist

[valley-of-headcanons]

(I think this is the right way to do this? We'll see)

I was hoping you could do Sebastian and/or Elliott with a pregnant farmer? Dealers choice between headcannons or oneshots!

Thank you! 😁

elliott and sebastian with their first child || headcanons

the boys are finally parents! how are they going to handle this new challenge?

warnings: anything pregnancy related, female bodied farmer with gender neutral pronouns, referred to as mother.

requested by: @merrymagpiesmess , hiya, thank you for requesting! sorry it took so long to get around to it, but i deeply appreciate it! this was fun to write, thank you so much!! :) [also, consider this a part 2 to the alex one :) ]

elliott

• Elliott pictured a very romantic, idealized life for himself. He wanted the cozy house, the loving spouse, and the two beautiful kids. Yes, to many it may seem unrealistic, but Elliott adored the thought. He understands that it may not be in the cards, but he's certainly manifesting! Right now, he has the life that he's dreamed of. He would love to have children with you!

• When he first found out you were pregnant, Elliott was ecstatic! He was so in love with you, and he was so excited to go through the beautiful progress of pregnancy. Bringing a human into this world was so beautiful to him, as most things in life were. He was so excited to be doing something so monumental with you.

• Elliott wrote a lot about you, your pregnancy, and your future child. Late night journaling sessions had many thoughts about you, you were all that flooded through his mind despite being married for so long. You were forever his muse, especially now. He wrote piles and piles of poetry about your pregnant glow and the child that you were carrying. He was so excited, and he couldn't believe how beautiful you were.

• Constantly showering you with affection, Elliott was very considerate of you during the pregnancy. Late night runs to Joja Mart were frequent, getting whatever you needed at the drop of a hat. You were so busy, even while pregnant! It was admirable in his eyes, and he wanted to shower you with as much affection as he could.

• As the time came to deliver the baby, Elliott was by your side the entire way to the hospital. He fulfilled your every request, showering you with words of encouragement and soft kisses on your forehead for comfort. He was worried, of course he was, a child was coming out of you. But, he knew in his heart, that everything would go perfectly.

• When everything was said and done, Elliott was incredibly excited. He was calm, making sure to hold you and let you have a moment to breathe. You meant everything to him, and you made sure to ask if you were okay. Yes, the baby had just been born, but he needed to take care of his spouse first and foremost. After knowing you were okay, he then started to discuss the baby. He was so excited to hold his newborn, he was already teary eyed.

• “Hello, my love ... goodness, you are so beautiful. You have the eyes of your mother, and the nose of your father. I ... for the first time in my life, I have been rendered speechless. You ... are going to be something special. You are the most special sum of atoms that have ever come to be. My dear, I hope that I shall give you the joy that your mere presence has given me.”

sebastian

• Sebastian never really thought about kids until you came into the picture. He didn't think he'd make a really good dad, as he really didn't have a good idea of what a father really is. His dad isn't around, and his stepdad is not the best to him. He never really thought that he could be a dad, but he wasn't against it. He just hadn't put too much thought into the subject.

• When he first found out that you were pregnant, Sebastian was shocked to say the least. He didn't really expect it, but he didn't show it. He gave you a smile and a kiss, happy despite the uncertainty. He didn't want you to worry, as you were the one actually carrying the child, and it would be much harder on you. So, he pushed his anxiety away until later. He showed his love and support for you right away.

• Late nights caught up to Sebastian. He sat in the realization that he really didn't know how to be a father. He didn't want to be like Demetrius: incredibly demeaning and awful toward him. But, on the other hand, he didn't want to be like his father: a deadbeat. So, he was stuck between worlds, freaking out over what may be the right thing. He spent many sleepless nights on parenting websites, or asking reddit what to do. He was stressed, to say the very least.

• During the pregnancy, Sebastian was very attentive to you. He would keep you company if you were ever suffering from pain, giving your belly soft kisses and holding your hand. He was stressed, and he didn't admit that to you until after the pregnancy was done. You did notice he was a bit more on edge than usual, so you tried to reassure him when you could. But, at nights, he was still trying to come up with a game plan.

• Soon, the baby was coming. Sebastian was freaking out inside, but managed to stay semi-calm on the outside. Not enough for you to notice, at least. However, you were going into labor, so you probably weren't paying much attention. He was by your side, holding your hand and saying a few reassuring phrases. They were for both of you, but it definitely calmed your nerves. He hoped everything would be okay in the end.

• After everything, Sebastian was drained but ... more than anything, he was happy. A smile landed on his face, holding your hand as you two waited for your baby to be brought to you. He kissed your knuckles, his nerves seeming to disappear. Being a father was going to be okay, because your child had the most wonderful mother. So, when Sebastian held his child for the first time, he was trying his hardest not to cry.

• ”Oh, wow ... you're a little human, in my hands, and real ... I ... didn't realize how real this moment would feel. I'm a father, and you're my little baby ... you're just a little guy, aren't you? Hehe ... you're such a cutie. I think we're gonna be okay, you think? I think so ... and I was so scared. Why was I so scared? You're really just a bundle of joy.”

[eggedbellies]

This is one of my dealer's choice commissions! Thank you anonymous, this was fun!!

Title: Midnight Search Wordcount: 1848 Kinks: tentacles, eggs / oviposition, suspension Synopsis: Jackson is a cleric with a job to do; get some flowers for a healing potion. Of course, they only bloom at night - and it seems something moved into the bog whilst he was away...

“Now ain’t this a damn fine idea?” Jackson heaved a great sigh from the very bottom of his chest, striding across the slightly boggy ground, deeper into the darkness. His bleeding heart had, once again, driven the cleric off in search of an unusual herb. There was no doubt that this stubborn curse required a very specific potion and, like the fool he was, he’d not ordered in any of the dried and powdered one for quite some time. No doubt a result of the particularly muggy summer, cracking open his reserve had revealed rather a fragrance of rot. Just wonderful. So now, here he was, letting his good boots get soaked with muddy water, heading off to find a flower as night truly fell.

“S’better fresh, at least,” he mused, wondering if he should’ve dragged on armour over the standard robes he’d taken to wearing. But getting a ponytail into a helmet was a nightmare, and whilst the bog was not the most pleasant place to take a trek, well, monsters were few and far between out here. Sure, he’d fallen off of the adventuring life and settled, it seemed; let himself soften down a bit, get a bit of a belly. But that was the nice thing about living out here, just being a local cleric, taking care of his community. Jackson was proud of what he did, dangit, and he wasn’t going to let a little thing like having to venture out to get ingredients stop him from making a cure.

The light was fading rapidly, but that wasn’t a bad thing – this particular bloom only opened it’s petals at night, but it was easiest to spot in the twilight. His boots squelched, the sucking water-mud mixture drawing his legs down with increasing power. Last time he’d been along here, he didn’t remember the bog being quite so deep… the edge of his robe was soaking quickly, unpleasantly sticking to his legs. Eugh. Gross. Murmuring a low incantation, sunlight glowed softly from his hand, casting the twisted trees around him, creating distorted shadows that he stoicly ignored.

Driving onwards, the trees got thicker and thicker, and still there was no sight of the soft pink glow of the flower that he needed. Damnit. There had to be something – this was definitely where he’d found them wild before. Casting his eyes up into the canopy, searching for any hanging by slender vine, he missed the roots that were rising just above the surface of the water – and with a yelp, his foot caught in it, casting him straight down into the pool with a loud splash. A moment later, cursing loud enough that a few birds took flight, he managed to drag himself onto a higher patch of ground, shaking water roughly off his robes. But it was too late. Soaked to the skin, Jackson reached up to squeeze his ponytail, grimacing. The light had flickered out, his concentration lost in the fall.

“Damnit to all Gods and Hells,” he muttered. This might be a lost cause. And now there was something wet and cold on his leg, probably a leech, which, ew. His hands began to reach down, searching for the offending insect, just as it occurred to him that whatever it was – it was far too big to be a normal leech. Eyes starting to adjust more to the dark, they caught the sight of something thick, shiny, rising out of the water, winding up his ankle – and then everything was cold and wet, liquid rushing up his nostrils as the cleric squirmed and fought, unable to cast a spell as he was yanked unceremoniously through the water. Just as he accepted that consciousness was about the fade and death might be around the corner, he was thrust into open air.

Gasping raggedly, he scrabbled hard, hands gripping at rock, mud, trying to pull away from whatever the hell was still wrapped around his leg. Twisting around, he aimed a kick, but succeeded in nothing more than entirely losing his boot. In here, there was a soft glow – from where he had no idea, but it suffused the small cave in an eerie pink light – and the air was unexpectedly warm, even if it was still damp. There, rising out of the water in front of him, a mass of lumbering tentacles. No beast he recognised, or had ever seen before - “What in the Gods-damned hells,” he gasped, coughing and spluttering, “are you?!” aiming another kick, even if it was bare foot, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen here. He didn’t know many violent spells, a healer by trade, but as he tried to summon up a simple ‘ignis’, it was too late.

They were everywhere. Soaking and slimy, and yet unbelievably strong, binding his wrists, jolting him up towards the ceiling. The ragged gasp was choked off, body covered in a writhing mass in what felt like a split second; one forcing it’s way into his mouth, coated in sweet water as well as something intensely earthy and natural. The sensation of his clothes being torn away was barely perceptible, all he could feel was every inch of those strong tentacles sliding over his body. Thick, pressing in to every part of his body, rubbing between his legs, spreading his cheeks, cupping his balls, stroking along the length of his cock… around his torso, over his thighs, and arms, and neck, not an inch of him was being left untouched. Struggling to gasp in air past the one that was wriggling into his throat, unable to get out a single word, more focused on just breathing, Jackson let himself relax.

There was no way out of this. And seeing as his cock was getting harder and harder, body tingling all over, he might as well enjoy it, right? Actually, the tingling was getting more intense by the moment, fogging everything over with a veneer of pleasure – whatever this damn thing was, it must have some kind of aphrodisiac in it’s slime – he had to get out of here – but as the goo oozed into his mouth, he was sucking on it like it was the sweetest nectar he had ever tasted. He couldn’t seem to stop, by the gods, it felt so good – something wrapping around his cock, now. It was drawing it down into something cool and so very, very wet – and all that thought went out of the window as the first tentacle began to push it’s way into his pucker.

“Oh, fuck -” he groaned, although it came out more like a garbled “hfh” because of the tentacle oozing down his throat. The tentacles were spreading his legs further, as if to gain more access, inch by inch of surprisingly thick tendril working it’s way into his orifice. His cock twitched, rock hard as the petals wrapped around it began to pulse and tug. He cried out again, trying urgently to roll his hips into it, needing more, more – but the tentacles were holding him tighter, forcing his trembling body to stay entirely still as tears rolled down his cheeks – not pain, but bliss, his body entirely accepting it’s invader. And still it sunk inexorably deeper – before releasing a spurt of cool fluid that made his whole body shudder as one, burning so hot that the coldness of the tendrils felt like a blessing.

It seemed happy with the depth it had achieved, now, starting to thrust. And oh, Jackson had never felt so much like a toy – it was using him, fucking him, like he was nothing more than a hole. It felt so good – his brain was lost in the fizz of aphrodisiac goo and the deep pleasure of being fucked hard. His cock twitched again, then again – and he came hard, right as the tentacle struck deep again. Every drop was drunk down, but he didn’t seem to go flaccid; whatever the hell this thing was doing to him, it seemed like it was going to drain him dry. The thought sent a cold thrill through his spine, legs twitching erratically. Fuck, hell, damns and gods, he never wanted it to let him go. The thrusts were rough, bouncing him despite the way he was being held. His body was relaxing, allowing him to stretch, taking a thickness he never imagined. Eyes rolling back, everything became just a wash of warm light and being used…

And then, suddenly, it froze. Totally still. Whining, Jackson tried to wriggle, to grind, but it wasn’t moving. Just as his eyes were starting to open, wondering if it was about to digest him, something began to press hard against his pucker. It was thicker than even the tentacle, bulging it out, but there was no doubting it was going to come in. It pressed inexorably, millimetre by millimetre, and then – with a faint pop – the egg entered him. Shuddering violently as he released a pittance into the tube around his cock, Jackson went utterly limp – not that it made a damned difference to the grip around him. But there was nothing to do. Slowly, it rolled up inside him, shockwaves of pleasure before it popped loose and settled deep inside him.

Then there was another. And another. Before long, a whole parade of round eggs were squeezing into his body. Jackson shuddered. The tendrils started to loosen their grip, just enough to allow for his rounding belly. A rough gasp escaped past the drooling tendril in his mouth, struggling to get enough air before let alone now that it felt like his very lungs were being compressed. Pop, press, release, swell – he rocked in the grip as best he could, starting to feel like a balloon, the tentacle sliding in deeper with his sheer weight. As the last egg popped inside, Jackson shuddered through a completely dry orgasm.

And then the tentacle began to loosen. He was being lowered. The grip around his body began to drop – thinking that he was falling, his arms flailed, grabbing at anything – and then he was being pulled again, dragged through water. Enough forsight this time to inhale first. The rush, now somewhat reduced by the size of his over-swollen belly – his sore hole, twitching spasmodically – the feeling of the water pressing on him – he almost came again just from being rushed back to where he was found. Dumped unceremoniously on the stream, he panted in air, crawling just a few steps away before his legs spread. Overstretched as he was, it took only a few strokes of his overly tender cock before all the eggs were rushing out, splashing back down into their pool. When he could think again, rubbing his tender belly with one hand, Jackson looked up at the starry night he could see through the gaps in the trees.

Then, languidly, he lifted up his other hand, still clutching whatever it was he’d grabbed from the ceiling of the cave. The soft pink glow of the flowers stared back at him.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me --”

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep6 Musings - Loumand's Power Imbalance: RANT (Spoilers)

I'm seeing so many trash takes in the tags and it's driving me nuts.

Armand 👏 Made 👏 His 👏 CHOICE! 👏

The show said it TWICE, and yet I still see a plethora of braindead takes about Armand/Arun being "forced" by "Maitre/pimp!Louis" to do things. 🤦

Like, ISTG we're clearly not watching the same show, y'all.

Since when did Louis being a pimp or asserting "dominance" or other delusions of grandeur get him anywhere or give him anything that wasn't immediately taken away again by people with ACTUAL power? Louis NEVER had any real power to begin with!

Lou couldn't even convince some schmuck art dealer to buy his effing photos! He couldn't even convince his own boyfriend/companion to make a dang baby with him! Come on, y'all--what POWER (control, influence, effectiveness, coercion, sway) has Louis ever actually had!?!?

Sure, Lou owned all those businesses--and every single one got shut down by the government's Ordinances (via the city council the Alderman & Tom Anderson were board members on). Sure, Lou had money & paid all the bills at DPDL Estate, but his mother had the power to badmouth him so bad that his own nieces never wanted to be around him, and Levi took his place as Florence's son--"you're not welcome in this home!" Sure, Lou's a big bad vamp w/ super strength "remember what I did to that door, Grace?," but Grace was the one who told him to "get out!;" "mah sistah buried me aliiiiive~!" Sure, he was "Daddy" Lou, but when Claudia ran away he couldn't do eff all to stop her or make her come back till SHE decided to come back. Sure, Lou said he was "equals in the quiet dark," but Lestat always had the final say--he's even testifying to an entire judge & jury in the court case that's gonna get Claudia killed & Louis LITERALLY buried alive--cuz ARMAND MADE A DEAL WITH SANTIAGO & THE COVEN & LESTAT! Everyone's making moves w/out Lou having a EFFING clue.

Y'all really think Armand just stood there & let Santiago kidnap Lou's family cuz LOUIS turned Armand into his slave!; or cuz LOUIS had some unfair advantage over Armand?!

Episode 7 was given its title for a frikkin REASON, y'all.

Armand claimed he "couldn't prevent it." Armand. The 500 year old vampire so powerful that HE was the only one in the coven who could set vampires on frikkin fire, and was the ONLY one who could freeze entire rooms full of people AND VAMPIRES.

Somehow, Armand's suddenly SO powerless, SO helpless, SO DOMINATED, that couldn't stop those SAME vampires from abducting his beloved companion ("I want you more than anything in the world") and his daughters? PLEASE.

Coven Master Armand CHOPPED OFF NICKI'S HANDS when he got TIRED of dealing with a mentally ill guy whom LESTAT left him with! Sound familiar!? Only this time it's not Louis' HANDS--it's his DAUGHTERS!

ARMAND WANTS THOSE TWO WENCHES GONE GIRL! He sold them down the frikkin river; and in return was able to guarantee that Louis wouldn't be killed right alongside them, merely buried alive so Armand could dig him up later; "eternity in a box."

Armand passively shut the door and stood by as the coven burned Claudia (after Armand had chopped her HEAD off & sewed it on an adult's body)--and only made his move once all the sentences had been meted out; cuz in classic Armand fashion: HE LET IT HAPPEN.

ARMAND WANTED THAT WHOLE COVEN GONE, GIRL! He's done this crap before! WITH LESTAT!

And Armand was busy wheeling & dealing with Lestat, too!

Lest only complied--COMPLICIT--cuz he'd been starved, delirious & hurt; and Armand tricked him into thinking he could/would help. Les threw Claudia under the bus to protect Lou, but was still horrified that she'd been killed, cuz ARMAND could've prevented it--his fledglings shouldn't've been held to the Great Laws in the first place!

This is a MASSIVE game Armand's playing--the whole point of his gaslighting's that he throws the same thing he does back in ppl's faces to throw them off his scent, "to protect me, from YOU, Mr. Molloy...from my shame...my cowardice." He hides behind illusions--not just with the Mind/Spell Gift, but also through the veneer of innocence: a black-winged devil with the innocent face of a cherub.

People are SO blinded by the mean Black man (whom they don't even like ANYWAY) Dom'ing Armand (FOR SHOW, btw!); and equally distracted by their failure to even parse Armand's birthname Arun (I don't see any of y'all saying Amadeo was book!Armand's "slave name," and I DEFINITELY don't see any of y'all saying ANDREI was his slave name, either!); that they've totally missed how Loumand plotted TOGETHER to concede power to Santiago and "give" him the Theatre--thoroughly ignorant of the fact that Santiago was already being called Maitre by the whole effing coven--he'd already won his coup!

You can't give someone something you never had, Louis!

And their plot was for ARMAND'S BENEFIT; so they could get rid of Santiago, destabilize/dismantle the coven so they'd scatter (just like Lestat caused them to do); and so Armand could decide if he wanted to stay Maitre or not--LETTING ARMAND CHOOSE what HE wanted to do with HIS coven and THEIR lives. Lest we forget: vamps don't just LEAVE covens--in the books, after Les ruined the Paris coven, Armand didn't just LET them leave--he set them on FIRE and KILLED THEM; just like Louis would do--as Armand sat back and LET IT HAPPEN.

He knew Lou'd go ballistic; AMC!Armand even TAUGHT Louis the Fire Gift; literally handing Louis the tools with which to destroy his coven for good!

This show constantly emphasizes the POWER Armand held over Louis & Claudia (& Madeleine)'s lives; and his autonomy, agency & authority over them; despite the roleplay Loumand was up to as they SWITCHED positions; cuz Armand FAILED at running the coven.

All Armand wanted was to be with Louis, but Lou kept dragging Claudia (& Lestat) with him. So Armand was tryna get rid of them--he's Sleeping in Claudia's coffin, cuz he wants to take HER spot; "it's BLISS!"--and he overplayed his hand.

Louis couldn't even kill himself in peace without Armand interfering--cuz at the end of the day, it's not up to Louis what he wants or does. Armand PRETENDS to be Louis servant, "Rashid," his subby bottom boy, cuz Armand WANTS to go along with it all--too shameful for his COMPLICIT culpability; and too scared to live alone.

I saw people saying "the victim became the victimizer; cycles of abuse; etc etc," like omfg--how is THIS man Louis' victim!?

I've said it before though: Armand genuinely loves Louis, and has good intentions. But let's not pretend Armand's some innocent bystander to Louis' schemes, ffs!

[mermaidxatxheart]

A Day at the Fair

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word count: 6665

Summary: the DEA are about to make a drug bust at the county fair and Javi gets distracted

A/N: thanks to @musings-of-a-rose for listening to me about all my nonsense lol

The crowd around them is loud, but Javier Peña can tune out crowds with the best of them. With a family the size of his, that loves to stick their noses where they don’t belong, he’d have to be.

His partner, however, always gets itchy in crowds. Steve Murphy isn’t a people kind of person. Or… maybe he is as long as they’re not cops. Who the fuck knows? Javi throws another dart onto the rotating dart boards. Bullseye number two.

Murphy scoffs, stuffing a nacho chip in his mouth. “How can you do that?” He asks, turning away from the booth to scan the crowd.

Their target hasn’t arrived yet and Javi is bored with a capital B. He didn’t want to do this drugs bust here at the fair, but Upper Management overruled him. Shocker. He throws another dart, almost not even paying attention and it lands on a bullseye once more.

“Patience, skill, it’s all in the wrist.” Peña shrugs.

“Whatever. I thought you didn’t like the fair.” Murphy mumbles.

“Entirely not true.” Javier says, watching a pretty girl walk by. “I just didn’t want to take down a drug dealer in front of little kids. I’ve got standards, man.” He grins, throwing the fourth dart without even looking.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve rolls his eyes with a sardonic chuckle. Bullseye number four.

“Do you want a go? We’ve got time for you to practice.” Javi teases, offering him the last dart. The booth is just a small square tent with open views on all sides so crowds can gather all around. Cheap stuffed animals are hanging from the ceiling, and Peña has his eye on a stuffed panda for his niece. In the center is a large disc that rotates around in a circle with five dart boards lying flat. If you can get all five darts in the center of any of the boards, you get a prize.

“Oh, fuck off.” Murphy mutters. “It can’t be that hard.” He takes the last dart and studies the rotating board intently.

Peña checks his watch, mostly just to mess with him. “Come on, pendejo, it’s not brain surgery.”

Murphy ignores him, as is usual, and takes his time before finally throwing it. It bounces off the metal rim and falls to the ground.

“Shut up.” He warns instantly, and Javi artfully disguises his shit-eating grin.

He pulls another five bucks from his wallet and hands it to the guy running the booth. Luckily for the two DEA agents, or maybe more for the guy running the booth, this spot has the best vantage point to keep an eye on the area of suspicion. They’ve been stuck in this area for thirty minutes at least.

“How are you not sweating, man? This heat is the worst.” Murphy says, shaking out his shirt.

“You lived in Colombia for how long? And after living in Texas-Florida heat is nothing.” He shrugs, throwing the first dart.

“Whatever, you freak. I’m gonna hit the head.” Steve tosses his nachos and wanders away.

Javi is mostly wasting time with the darts. But someone steps next to him and he’s glad Steve walked away. He throws the last dart and gets his bullseye as the pretty girl next to him watches, impressed. He gestures to the panda as his prize and you lean against the railing next to him.

“Interesting choice. I would have assumed the shark.” You say, the teasing smile evident in your voice.

Javi looks from the panda to you and back, examining it. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod matter of factly.

“And why is that?” He asks, leaning next to you, keeping one eye on the area, but you have most of his attention.

“Sharks are mostly harmless until provoked. You seem like you could be dangerous, but most of the time it’s just not worth your effort.” You say.

He chuckles with a self-effacing nod. “Maybe.” He watches you tuck your hair behind your ear before you smile back up at him.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“Javier.” He answers. “You?”

You tell him your name and he can’t help but think that it’s one of the prettiest names he’s ever heard.

“Can I ask, Javier, you don’t really strike me as the fair-goer-type. Are you having fun?” You ask.

“Why does everyone think I don’t like fairs?” He asks exasperatedly.

“Well, you did bring a gun.” You whisper, gesturing to the bump on his hip that’s his gun, covered only by his favorite Hawaiian shirt.

He starts at that. “How did you-“

You grin. “My ex-fiancé was a cop. Or, still is, I suppose.”

“Is him being a cop the reason he’s an ex?” He asks.

“No. It was the cheating, the lying, the secret family.” You tick off on your fingers like adding ‘secret family’ to the end of that sentence isn’t the most wild thing to reveal to a stranger. “I was fully ready to be married to a cop. But apparently so was his wife.” You shrug. “My dad, my uncles, my grandpa-all cops. So, lucky for you, I know not all cops are cheating dirtbags, and if I happen to meet a handsome cop at the fair and he were to buy me food or win me a prize, I wouldn’t say no.” You say and all he can do is stare as it dawns on him that you’ve actually been flirting with him this whole time. He used to be better at this.

“Peña.” His earbug crackles and it makes him jump.

“Peña, here.” He responds, never taking his eyes off your pretty face.

“Get your fucking ass ready, man. Target’s here.” Murphy says exasperatedly.

“Shit.” Javi curses.

“Duty calls?” You guess and he’s never been more annoyed at his job than now.

“Unfortunately.” He glances down at the panda in his hand. “Will you hold onto this?” He asks and you nod, taking it in your arms. “I’ll be right back.” He promises quickly before taking off.

That was stupid. He shouldn’t have promised you that.

***

You watch the most handsome man you’ve ever met jog across the green and vault himself over a low brick wall.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest, trapping the stuffed panda there for safe keeping. “Javier Peña.” You muse, walking towards the funnel cake stand nearby. You hope he does come back.

The panda intrigues you, as does the impeccable ability to throw darts at a moving target and never miss.

“I think I’ll call you Amanda, Amanda the Panda.” You tell it. “You look like you want some funnel cake while we wait.” And that’s exactly what you do. There’s a picnic bench nearby and you wait there until Javier isn’t busy anymore.

Whomever he’s arresting, they have a lot of stuff going on because it’s taking forever. You eat a funnel cake, a gyro, and some amazing brisket queso fries.

You snag a napkin not stained with grease and write your address on it. You see him hop back over the wall, heading for you and you smile to yourself.

“Sorry that took so long.” He huffs, running a hand roughly through his dark locks.

“No worries.” You smile at him. “Everything work out alright?” You ask.

“Better than we hoped.” His eyes drop to the stuffed panda tuwcked safely in your arms. “I can take that back.” He starts, reaching for it, but you twist slightly out of his grasp.

“Actually,” you hesitate and he frowns. “Amanda and I have bonded. And we’ve decided that-“

“I’m sorry, who’s Amanda?” He squints.

“Amanda the Panda. And we’ve decided to split custody. So, you can take her back tomorrow night, when you pick us up for dinner.” You tell the poor, shocked cop, handing him the napkin with your address on it.

He takes the napkin dumbly and clears his throat, a smile starting to tug at his pretty lips. “How does seven sound?”

“Like a date.” You reply, taking a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

He waves with a half salute and you disappear from his line of sight into the crowd.

Javi

“You’re really going?” Murphy asks in surprise.

“She’s holding my panda hostage.” Javi shrugs. The whole idea is absurd. But you were really fucking cute, extorting a date out of him.

Steve laughs. “I thought DEA agents don’t negotiate. What did she name the thing again?”

“Amanda the Panda. And who’s negotiating?” Peña grins, tucking his aviators on and heading out of the office’s front doors.

“Good luck with your hostage situation!” Murphy calls after him. Javier departs with a middle finger tossed behind him.

Nervously, ridiculously afraid to do the wrong thing, he buys you flowers. Not roses, that’s… a lot to get back a panda. But daisies? Absolutely.

He pulls up in front of your house and he can tell you’ve put a lot of work into it. The gardens are beautiful and in full bloom, filled with bushes and trees of a deep emerald green, flowers that are bright reds, soft coral pinks, and deep purples. Your house is a quaint one story cottage painted a pastel pink with a white trim.

He gets out of his little truck and walks up to the front door, a soft brown wood, the white paint worn down with age and sand blasting probably. A wreath made of bleached coral and seashells hangs on the door.

If this isn’t the most Florida home he’s ever seen.

He knocks solidly and it’s only a second or two before the door swings open and he’s momentarily speechless. Your hair is styled into soft curls, tempting him to reach out and touch them, run his fingers through them and make them a mess. Your lips are the softest, most delicate shade of pink. You’re wearing a sundress that is so tempting, he almost has to walk away. Thin white straps, bright red cherries with bright green stems. A gathered sweetheart neckline that shows off your heavenly curves perfectly almost has him wishing the weather was just a little bit cooler. But you’d probably find a way to torment him then, too. He can’t even force himself to look down your perfect body to see what kind of shoes you chose to destroy him with. He glances anyway. Simple white platform pumps.

Christ, he’s in trouble.

“I have to admit, I’m not sure I really expected you to show.” You tell him, drawing his attention back to your face.

“You look amazing.” He manages, handing over the flowers.

“Oh, thank you. These are beautiful.” You take them, stepping back and letting him into your home.

He’s not quite sure what he was expecting; maybe a lot of pink to match the outside, looking for all the world like an overstuffed cafe. But it’s actually quite comfortable. Soft colors: sky blue, blush pink-nothing in your face bright. The furniture is cozy without being an explosion of stuffing. It looks like a comfy beach cottage.

“I like your house.” He manages again as you set the flowers in a pretty vase on the coffee table.

“Thank you. I wanted something that reminds me of a day at the beach.” You smile at him and he loses his train of thought again. You select a soft white cardigan off the hooks by the door. “Ready to go? I’m excited to see what you have planned.” You say and he scratches at the back of his head.

“Ready.” He opens the don’t door for you and closes it behind him, waiting patiently while you lock it. “So, you enjoy being at the beach?” He asks, leading you to his little pickup truck.

“Yeah. I can’t imagine living in Florida and hating it.” You look at him curiously. “Do you hate the beach, Javi?” You ask as he opens the door for you, almost as if a yes would devastate you.

He closes it and walks around, climbing in. “No. It’s hard to chase someone in the sand, but I like the view.” He says, turning over the engine. Your perfume fills the space, swirls around him and he finds himself taking extra long breaths just to smell it longer. It’s floral, soft. Beautiful.

“Do your suspects run on the beach a lot?” You ask and he chuckles.

“No, thank god.”

“That’s good. The beach should be for fun things.” You say definitively.

“Like what?” He prompts. He could listen to you tell him things all day long. Doesn’t matter if it’s shit he already knows. Tell him again.

“Tanning, seashell collecting, skinny dipping, watching the waves and storms roll in, kissing in the rain.” You shrug. “The usual.”

He nearly swerves as you mention skinny dipping. You just might kill him. “I like your thinking.” He manages and you laugh.

“You’re adorable when you blush.” You say, half turning to face him in your seat.

“I don’t blush.” He protests.

You reach out softly and brush his cheek. “Right here. Just the cutest.” You tease and his stomach is a mess with butterflies. He captures your hand and kisses the back of it before setting it on the middle seat. But you don’t let go, instead, scooting closer, linking your arm around his and resting your cheek against his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“I was thinking Cuban food?”

“Oh my god, yes.” You agree enthusiastically, and he’s happy you’re so into it.

He parks outside the little restaurant and gets out, with you following him out of his door. You reclaim his hand, following him inside.

***

Javier is adorable, blushing at any little innuendo you make. You don’t think he’s innocent, just not used to being on the receiving end.

The restaurant is exactly what you would expect from a Cuban eatery. Full of life, culture, loud music, and amazing smelling food. There are couples dancing out on the cobblestone patio out back that you can spot as you’re led to a booth.

You slide all the way in, leaving space for Javi next to you if he wants, and you hope he does. He slides in next to you, arm draping comfortably on the back of the booth. The waiter sets menus in front of you and walks away to give you time to look.

You shift against Javi slightly, getting comfortable against the side of his chest, hoping that he doesn’t mind you getting so personal so fast.

“Have you been here before?” You ask.

“A couple times. The food is really good.” He says, opening one of the menus. “I like the Milanesa de pollo with white rice and black beans. Or the masitas de puerco.” He says, pointing them out on the menu.

“I get one, you get the other?” You offer and he chuckles.

“Works for me.” He agrees, flipping to the cocktails.

You’re watching him as he reads them off to you. He’s beautiful. You saw it yesterday while he was casually dominating the carnival game. But today? He looks less stressed, even if you do make him flustered.

He seems to realize you’re not really listening to him and he cuts off short, looking at you, confused. “Are you alright?” He asks and you can’t help but smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m perfect.”

The waiter comes back over and you let Javi order for you, his Spanish being far superior to yours.

“So, whole family of cops, engaged to one, looking to date another.” He starts and you’re already grinning. “Are you a cop?” He asks and you laugh.

“No. I’ve broken tradition. I was going to be a teacher, but hated it. So, now I’m a writer. I get to make my own schedule, my own office. My commute is from my bedroom to my living room.” You say and he laughs. It’s deep and a little rough.

“That sounds perfect, to be honest. Have I read anything of yours? I didn’t recognize the name.”

“Probably not. I write under a false name. I do a bit of everything-mystery, horror, romance. Whatever strikes me.” You shrug. “You also don’t seem like the type to have a ton of time to read.”

“Guilty, but maybe I’ll start.” He winks.

You clear your throat, fighting a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss this man. He’s holding you, smelling oh-so-good, and taking an interest? Christ, you just might marry him.

“So, you know about my awkward ex. Anyone lurking in your past?” You ask.

“Oh, you know, just an almost wife.” He says so casually as he sips his drink that it’s almost payback for you doing it to him.

“Almost wife?” You press, eyebrows lifting high.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat gruffly, crunching an ice cube. “Her name was Lorraine. And she was amazing, and I left her the night before the wedding.” He says. He’s not proud of it-you can tell. But he told you, which says something to you, giving you a sense of warmth? Pride? Honor?

“Why?” You ask softly.

“It’s complicated, but the long and tall of it is that she lied about being pregnant to get me to marry her. Told me the night before the wedding that it was all fake. I couldn’t get past it.” He scratches at his chin.

“I don’t blame you.” You say, taking his hand over your shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, though.” You start, looking up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Their losses are our gains.” You say brightly and he presses a chuckling kiss to your temple, setting off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself, sweetheart.”

Your food is served and not once while you’re eating does the conversation falter. You find out he’s a DEA agent. He’s recently moved back from Colombia where he was stationed. His family all lives in Texas but he only feels a little guilty for not getting back to see them often enough. But his ex is still there and that makes it awkward.

You push your empty plate away, satisfied. “Shit, that was delicious.” You sigh, patting your stomach. His eyes follow the motion and it’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but you’re pretty sure his pupils got bigger.

“How are you at dancing?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“I can hold my own. Would you like to dance?” He asks.

“I would love to.”

He drops cash on the table and leads you out under the string lights and pulls you close. The song switches to something slower. You don’t recognize it, but apparently Javi does. His cheek is resting against yours, holding your hand against the center of his broad chest as he dances the both of you across the semi-crowded floor. He’s humming along and you can’t help but close your eyes, leaning against him, completely at ease. You could very easily spend your days like this, dancing with him in your kitchen after dinner, glass of wine in your hand, this beautiful man in your arms.

The song ends and he pulls back from you, looking almost as reluctant as you are. “We have to go, cariño. I have more planned for us.” He says and you perk up.

“You do?”

“Of course. I need to make a good impression if I ever want my panda back.” He teases.

You grin. “Fair enough, Mr. Peña. Lead the way.” You tell him and he takes your hand, leading you out into the humid air. It’s starting to get dark and you wonder what he could possibly have planned.

He opens his door and you climb back in, sliding across the bench seat to make space for him. He climbs in next to you and gives you a smile before he starts his little truck.

You shift against him, getting comfortable once more. His big arm is around you and it doesn’t really matter to you where he’s taking you.

“Are you always this forward?” He asks, getting back on the road.

“I see no point in lying or hiding what I want.” You shrug. “I like you, I think you’re beautiful. Why would I hide that I want you?”

He gives a strangled sort of chuckle. “Jesus.” He tugs you close, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I like the way you think, princesa.”

“Good.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I’m older?” He asks.

“Not at all. Men my age just want another mommy. Men like you aren’t looking for that, you’re more experienced, and you’re not looking to play games with my head. Either you want me, or you don’t.”

“Oh, trust me, Angelita, I want you. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you.” He says, pulling into a drive and you recognize the drive-in theater. He buys two tickets and you smile to yourself.

Movies under the stars with Javier? What could be more perfect?

He backs his truck into a space and you look at him, confused. “How are we going to watch it backwards?”

“Come on.” He opens his door and helps you down. You wobble in the grass on your heels and he grins down at you. “God, you’re cute.” He climbs up into the truck bed and pulls out blankets and pillows.

You stare at him, surprised and amazed. Whatever you had expected from tonight, this wasn’t it. You watch him move around to make the truck bed comfortable and cozy for you. You might have to kiss him. You smile to yourself as he hops back out.

“Ready?” He asks, holding out his big hand to you.

“More than ever.” You accept and he leads you to the back.

“Want popcorn?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically and he chuckles. “Ok, doll face. I’ll be right back.” He jogs away to the concession stand a couple rows away and you slide up onto the tailgate while you wait for him. He comes back fairly quickly despite how busy the drive-in is. He sets popcorn and two sodas next to you and goes to move the speakers, setting them on the ledges of the truck bed. He comes back around and looks at you, almost waiting.

“It’s perfect, Javier.” You reach forward, hooking a finger around the top buttoned button of his shirt and pull him closer between your thighs. You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for making tonight so wonderful.” You say softly and his eyes dip closed.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He steps back for you to get comfortable and you cross your legs, removing your heels. You set them out of the way just inside the edge of the truck bed. He lets out a soft little noise and you glance at him curiously.

“Hermosa, you’re killing me.” He sighs, sliding up next to you and taking off his dusty boots. It’s almost weird to you how watching him take off his shoes feels like something intimate. You get the feeling that he doesn’t allow himself to be comfortable around many people.

He sets his boots next to your heels and shifts himself to the back against the pillows with the popcorn and your drinks.

“Coming?” He arches an eyebrow and pats the spot next to him. Yeah, you’re gonna kiss this man until your lips fall off.

You roll and turn to crawl to him on your hands and knees until you can twist and sit next to him.

“Shit.” You hear him curse quietly and you smile innocently to yourself. Glad to know you’re having just as much of an effect on him as he is on you. You shift against him comfortably as his big arm slips around your shoulders, holding you against him. He settles the popcorn between your thigh and his where you can easily reach it. You take a piece, popping it into your mouth. His thumb is brushing soft, slow strokes against the front or your arm next to him, his own like a bar across your chest.

“Do you miss Colombia?” You ask.

“Not particularly. I was down there for my job. I’m certainly not minding being back in the states right now.” He grins down at you.

You smile back, bringing his hand to your mouth, gently kissing his palm. The smell of him is surrounding you, encasing you in everything that is Javier Peña and you never want to leave.

His hand gently cups your throat, sliding up under your chin to tilt your head back for him. He presses those soft lips to your forehead and you close your eyes, crossing your legs tightly. This man is a menace that you will gladly invite into your bed. He shifts, another kiss to your temple, your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw.

Fuck, you’re fucking wet.

The movie starts and he lets you go, turning his attention to the screen.

Rude.

***

He has you desperately trying to hide your peals of laughter as you fight for a piece of popcorn. Every time you reach for a piece, he’s tickling your sides, or taking your hand and eating the piece out of your fingers. His soft lips trap your fingertips in his mouth, his tongue brushing against the pads, licking them free of any salt or butter. His other hand tickling your side to distract you.

It’s when he nips your fingertips that you freeze, fingers still in his mouth. That turned you on more than it was probably supposed to. He releases your fingers and you don’t immediately pull away; instead, letting your thumb brush cross his soft-as-sin lower lip.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you have to inhale extra and your lungs hurt. In that split second, your lips part, his gaze drops to your mouth and then you’re kissing. You don’t know who moved, maybe you both did.

His mouth on yours is like a flame, searing the air from your lungs. He licks at your bottom lip, parting you further, hands gripping at your back, and waist as you thread your fingers through his soft curls. You turn, swinging one leg over his big thighs. His hands grip your thighs, ruching up your dress as they slide up your body to your back and hair, holding you against his chest.

You rock your hips, trying anything to get closer to him, fingers deep in his soft locks. A little tug as you rock and you’re rewarded with the softest moan against your open mouth. His fingers press into your back, crumpling your dress in his possessive grip.

He breaks away from your mouth, kissing down your jaw, your throat, your shoulders as he slides the straps off.

“Hermosa, mierda.” He groans against your skin. “Por favor, can I touch you?” He whispers, and you nod, lost in the feel of him growing hard under you.

He kisses you fiercely, hand sliding under the hem of your summer dress. Soft fingertips skimming up your bare thighs as you nip at his lip, returning the kiss just as eagerly.

He pulls your panties to the side, burying his face against your bare shoulder. He groans as his pads swipe through your drenched folds, teasing your clit with little nudges.

“Cariño, all for me?” He teases. “You’ve been tempting me all night with this pretty dress.” He tells you in a whisper, rubbing tight slow circles around your sensitive little nub. He gives it a few minutes, drawing out your pleasure as it coils low and hot in your belly. You’re cupping his face, kissing him in between ragged breaths and soft moans, pleas for more. He slides his thick fingers down away from your clit towards your entrance, probing you and driving you crazy. He kisses along your neck, licking and sucking a very deliberate mark onto your skin. He nips at it, soothing it with his tongue and sucking before starting again as his fingers coat themselves in your slick before he pushes two inside your warm, velvety tunnel. He moans quietly against your chest. The stretch from his fingers alone is enough for you. You can’t imagine any other part of him yet. His thumb takes up tormenting your sensitive clit as his fingers stroke along your frontal walls easily.

“J-Javi,” your voice breaks as you try to be quiet. But all you can think about is him. The way he smells, and the way he’s clinging to you, the way his mustache scrapes against your skin, the way his tongue licks against you.

“Sh, sh, hermosa.” He coos, nibbling at your earlobe. “Gotta be a good girl for me. Gotta be quiet so all these people don’t know what a naughty girl you are, letting a cop touch this pretty pussy in public.” He says, his voice low and husky in your ear, only serving to make you wetter. You’re grinding against his hand, gasping against his cheek, clinging to him. His other arm is around you, holding you tight against him as he fingers you. “Good girl, baby. So tight, taking my fingers so good.” He praises and you’re melting against him. You lift up, body starting to tense as you try to escape the oncoming orgasm.

He catches the neckline of your dress with his teeth and pulls it down, exposing your breasts to him as you tremble, cumming on his fingers with a whine. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl. You can give me more.” He encourages, latching onto a nipple and giving it the same treatment he gave your neck. Pleasure shoots straight to your cunt where he stokes it against your g-spot.

“J-Javi,” you gasp and he bites gently on your nipple in response. You shudder, grinding harder on his hand beneath your dress.

“Love the way you moan my name, princesa.” He fingers you diligently, never slowing down, his eyes always on you. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you cumming on my fingers. Wanna keep you like this.” He moans. You push down, grinding half against his hand and half against his crotch. He’s hard and aching, you can feel him twitch under you every time you moan in his ear.

You kiss him desperately, tugging at his hair as he steadily works you higher and higher until you snap for the second time. It occurs to you, somewhere in your orgasm-muddled- brain, that he has his fingers inside you out in public where anyone walking by can see. Your tit is out on display, granted it’s crushed against his broad chest, but still.

He licks a hot stripe up the center of your chest, along your throat, to your mouth, kissing you messily. “You’re dripping down my hand, hermosa. Got you so wet.” His own deep voice cracks as you whimper against his neck. “Want you to cum again. Want you to soak my hand, baby. Drench me and give me everything you have.” He urges, fingers picking up pace inside you and on your clit. His arm is wrapped tightly around you, holding you where he wants you. He sucks on your neck again, biting your skin and fingering you furiously.

Your soul leaves your body as you convulse and orgasm on his fingers. He holds you against his lap, making you take the pleasure he’s giving you. Not letting you escape from it like you normally would. He doesn’t stop. You wonder if his fingers are tired, but he doesn’t stop, chasing orgasm number four from your body. Your inner walls are clenching around his fingers, riding them with an unknown desperation as he marks up your skin with his perfect mouth. Small whimpers are leaving your body as he drags you higher and higher and higher and higher until your body snaps and you go slack, arching back away from him as you tremble with your most powerful orgasm yet.

He lays you back on the blanket carefully, adjusting your legs to be more comfortable. He pulls his sopping wet hand out from under your dress, holding it up for you to see it glistening in the moonlight. “So fucking pretty.” He praises. “Fuck, I could watch you cum all day long.” He says, licking his fingers and giving a small moan. “You’re fucking delicious. Sweetest pussy on earth.” He says, sucking his fingers clean as you watch him through half lidded eyes. He leans over you, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Combined with his taste, you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him there.

He indulges for just a few minutes but then shifts himself between your thighs. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk around with your cum dripping down your thighs for the rest of the night?” He chuckles, lifting your dress.

“Should be your cum dripping out of me.” You say and he grins.

“That’s for next time.” He promises, and then his tongue is on you and you forget how to exist. His hand is over your exposed tit as he buries his head in your pussy. If you thought his fingers had you seeing stars? That’s nothing to the way his tongue brushes against every inch of you. He pushes it deep inside you, slurping at you, swirling around your already quivering clit. It traces every inch of your flower, searching for the nectar you release until he makes you cum two more times and then he declares you’re decent.

You are, in fact, not decent. You should like to show him right here right now how indecent you would like to be with him, but you currently can’t move. He fingered the bones right out of your body. He adjusts your dress, covering you back up and making you proper again. He lies next to you, the both of you facing the wrong way for the movie, but you don’t even care. You curl up against him, head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“I’ve never cum like that before.” You tell him and he chuckles, his fingertips tracing lines down your bare arms.

“That’s a crying shame. You’re stunning, and when you cum-it’s like a whole different level. I would love to watch you cum over and over all day someday. Just to watch that face you make and hear those gorgeous noises.” He says and you feel yourself blushing. “Maybe next time, we can be somewhere for you to be loud. Wanna hear you scream my name.” He whispers and you groan.

“That probably won’t be a problem.” You admit and he laughs quietly. “Can I-“ you reach for his belt buckle, but he catches your wrist.

“This was about you tonight, hermosa.” He says, pulling your hand back up to hold it on his chest.

“You look uncomfortable.” You tell him and he chuckles.

“Reward of a job well done. I like a little bit of pain.” He says softly.

You file that bit of information away for later. “Alright, just don’t go exploding. I’d like to see you again.” You warn him and he kisses the crown of your head.

“Not to worry, princesa. I won’t explode without you.” He promises and you snuggle more against his chest, satisfied and getting sleepy.

***

Javi

He looks down at you, asleep in his arms and drops his head back down. He’s in trouble. He likes this way too much for this to be his first date with you.

The credits are rolling but he doesn’t care that you both missed more than half of the movie. He lifts his head, kissing the top of your hair.

“Hermosa,” he whispers. “Wake up, pretty girl.” He says gently rocking your shoulder. You don’t move and he gently shifts you off his chest and onto your back. He kisses your forehead, between your cute little eyebrows, the tip of your nose. One temple, then the other. He can see your eyelids fluttering. He kisses down your cheek, the point of your chin, up your other cheek.

Christ, you smell good. He nudges your head to the side with his nose, kissing down your neck, admiring his handiwork with the hickie he left. He licks at the hollow in the center at the base of your throat. He allows one small nip at your skin, soothing it over with his tongue as your face scrunches and you whine softly. He trails slow kisses down your sternum, nipping at the top of your perfect breasts. He licks there, too and you shiver as the cool breeze blows over it.

You whine again, your hands coming up to settle in his hair. He kisses down between your breasts, down over your stomach, hands bunching up your skirt, wondering how far you’ll let him go with this.

“Don’t be a tease, Peña.” You mumble, eyes still closed and he chuckles.

“Movie’s over, cariño.” He comes back up, brushing your soft cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“And?” You sigh, pulling his head to yours and he laughs, kissing you with repeated quick little pecks. “You’re such a menace.” You complain.

“I’m aware.” He grins, rolling back over next to you and you sit up.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” You ask, rolling against his chest and looking down at him. Your hair falls into your face, tickling him. He brushes it back, taking every chance to touch you now that he knows he can.

“I’m not supposed to. But in my line of work, you never really know.” He says.

“Okay. I can live with that.” You kiss him softly and pull away too quickly. He tries to follow, half sitting up and you laugh.

“I should take you home before the bugs eat you alive.” He says, sitting up next to you and leaning back on his hands.

“Unless you want another go at it.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he laughs.

“I’m not saying no.” He turns and scoots to the tailgate, pulling his boots on. You slide next to him and he gets down, scooping you up easily.

You shriek and laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Smooth.”

He winks and sets you in the front seat. He returns the speakers, gathers up the pillows and blankets and throws away the popcorn. He climbs back in and returns your shoes.

He starts the truck and is pleased when you lean against him again. He could very easily get used to this. He drives you home, parking out front. He climbs out, holding his hand out for you. He doesn’t let it go, though, as he walks you to the front door.

You hesitate at the door, fiddling with your keys. “Can I tempt you to come inside?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Darlin’, if anyone could, it would be you. But, I think I’m going to say no tonight. I always rush into everything and this-I want to take this slow.” He says, his heart cracking at turning you down, but you don’t get mad, you just smile at him so sweetly.

“Alright.” You beckon him closer and kiss him deeply, arms wrapped around his shoulders, on your tiptoes, fevered. He returns it, hands bunching into fists against your back.

“Christ, woman.” He pulls back, heart racing and breathing hard. Luckily, you look just as flushed as he feels. “Can I see you tomorrow?” He asks.

“Pending any major drug related emergencies? Absolutely.” You nod and he grins.

“It’s a date. Breakfast? I have plans.”

“I can be up in time for breakfast.” You agree.

“Perfect. Goodnight.” He says softly and makes sure you get inside and the door locks before he walks back to his truck. He climbs inside, grinning like an idiot. And it isn’t until he starts the engine that he remembers the stupid panda.

“Fuck.”

[mytardisiscoolerthanyours]

Dummies and Daisies: Dick Grayson/OFC Short Fic

Summary: Dick Grayson can't stop himself from visiting his favorite flower shop (or maybe flower girl) on his way home from work.

Chapter 1: Sunflowers and Sneezes

“Back again?” She called as she saw the familiar head of scruffy black hair come through her front door. “That's two bouquets in one week, I’m starting to think you have an addiction.” Her laugh rang through the shop as she walked to the front, greeting Dick at the counter.

“I can’t help that you have the best flowers in Gotham, Sunny.” He mused as he leaned his forearms against the counter. He started calling her that a while back during one of their many chats after she insisted that sunflowers were the best flower. “I just can’t stay away,” he said with his signature smirk.

She rolled her eyes in return. When he first started coming in, he had such an effect on her. Constantly make her blush with all of his flirting. At first, she thought that maybe he came in just to see her, but as the weeks went on and he didn’t make any moves, she realized that it was just his personality. She tried not to think about him flirting with everyone else he met, too.

“What’ll it be today then, Grayson?” She pulled out her notepad and pen, looking around the shop to take a mental inventory of which flowers she had in right now. “We just got in some really nice lilies, or maybe a wildflower bouquet?” She was already lost in thought, arranging flowers together for him in her head. She knew he preferred the more natural-looking arrangements, not the flashy ones that some of her more affluent clients liked.

He could see that she was already working, planning something spectacular for him in that brain of hers. He really loved watching her work. She was so passionate about her craft, and it showed. She had the best arrangements on Gotham, it's just a shame that not many people have been in the business of buying flowers lately.

Her shop was right on the border of crime alley. It wasn’t unsafe, but her clientele didn't have much change to spare, let alone money for flowers. She made enough to get by, but with her skill, she should have been the top shop in Gotham, or at least Dick thought so. That's why he always found himself stopping by after work. He never cared much for flowers before, but her passion and dedication kept him coming back again and again. He’d gotten so bad that he ended up there at least twice a week, always under the guise of wanting another arrangement. Definitely not because he wanted to flirt with the pretty owner.

“Dealers choice,” he smiled and watched as she nodded and got to work. She already had the perfect bouquet in mind, a mix of her local wildflowers with a bold centerpiece made of dark-colored daisies. Just natural enough for his liking, but still a little more elevated than just a standard bouquet.

It only took a few minutes to get it together, she was nothing if not efficient. It was like a dance as she moved around the shop, grabbing a few flowers from one basket before moving on to the next. Dick was entranced, mesmerized by her gentle movements around the room.

“All set,” she smiled as she handed the large arrangement over the counter. Her voice broke Dick out of his haze and he grabbed the flowers with a bashful smile. He was so thrown off that he forgot to keep the flowers away from his face, accidentally bringing the pollen too close to his nose.

Without warning Dick froze, took a deep breath, and let out the loudest sneeze she had ever heard. And then another, and another. She looked at him with wide eyes, he had never had a problem with an arrangement before. She went through the flowers in his hand, confirming that there was nothing out of the ordinary in there. He's gotten all of those flowers before but they had never affected him like this.

“Oh my god,” she fussed, coming over to his side of the counter. “Are you ok?” Her hands hovered above his shoulders as he sneezed, unsure what to do to help him.

Dick groaned between sneezes, he had forgotten to take his allergy medicine this morning. He always grabbed it on days he knew he would be stopping by. He’d always had a pretty bad allergy to flowers, but as long as he had medicine, and he kept the flowers away from his face, he was usually fine. But, today, he came here on a whim. He had just wanted to see her and didn't think much about anything else after he had that thought.

“I’m. Ok. Sorry.” He sneezed between each word of the reply. She grabbed the flowers from him and set them on the table, replacing them with a box of tissues in his hand.

“Are you allergic to flowers?” She was so confused. He had been coming here for weeks, surely he wasn’t buying something he was this allergic to all that time. What kind of idiot hangs out in a flower shop if they can’t handle pollen?

He looked up at her sheepishly, managing to get his sneezes more under control now that he had some tissues.

“About that…” he looked away. He tried to school his features, hoping the blush of embarrassment was disguised by his many sneezes. Reluctantly, he turned back to her. He knew he was in trouble, there was no way to explain his way out of this. “I’m totally allergic to flowers, like absolute snot central whenever I’m near them.”

“You're joking,” she laughed. You're here all the time and I've never once heard you sneeze.” She looked at him again, noticing the redness in his eyes and around his nose. “Why would you buy so many flowers if you were this allergic?”

He gave her a knowing look as if it should be obvious to her. He stopped in twice a week for an arrangement and every time ended up staying to chat for over an hour after. She liked it when he stopped by, and even looked forward to it whenever she heard the bell above the door ring. Their routine was the highlight of most of her weeks, and his business was a big part of why she could keep her shop open during this recession. But, it finally hit her.

“Oh…” she blushed. He never came for the flowers. “You do all that just to come talk to me?... or- or am I reading this all wrong? Because if I am then totally just ignore me and pretend I did not just say that to you.” The blush took over her face and she turned away to hide it. She tended to talk when she was nervous, and boy was she talking. Why could she never just shut up-

“Sunny,” he interrupted her train of thought. He took a step closer to her, now having his sneezing under control. “Of course, I come here to see you,” he smiled softly. He reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Not that I don’t love your flowers, but you’re the reason I can’t stay away.”

She looked up into his eyes, dazed but unbelievably happy. She had always hoped, tried not to, but hoped anyway. She wanted Dick to be there for her, not the flowers. She often daydreamed in the back when she was putting flowers together that he would come in one day and ask her out. This wasn’t exactly what she pictured, but she didn’t mind.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Her eyes met his and saw nothing but warmth and happiness… and maybe a few tears from the sneezing, but she would ignore that.

He didn’t have a good answer for her, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just asked her out that first day. He wanted to, but something held him back. She was so sweet and kind, the embodiment of goodness in his eyes, and maybe he didn’t think he deserved that. What with his night job, maybe he would take away that sweetness and warmth that he loved so much about her. He didn’t want to be responsible for that.

“Maybe you’re too good for me,” he mused with an easy smile, taking another step closer to her. He knew he shouldn’t, but they had gotten this far, so why not a step further?

She laughed. If anything he was too good for her. He single-handedly supported her small business for over a month when he was literally allergic to her product. Plus, he always made her laugh and smile, which was a bonus.

“Or…” she countered, matching his step forward until there were only a few inches between them, “maybe we're just right for each other.” At that, he smiled, resigned in his all-consuming attraction for this flower girl that had plagued his mind for over a month. He leaned down, ready to close the distance between them.

But just before their lips touched, he sneezed again.

Hope you enjoyed! (Check out the full fic below) <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60135556/chapters/153448324

[thetoaddaddy]

Monster Prompt List

Helloooooo friends! Here I drop a list for this year for monster things. Starting off a little early to have enough time to write and embrace the fall mood without cramming it all into one very spooky month. Last year I think I think I kinda burnt out 😔 so extra time for us all this year for spooky (and horny if you so choose)!

Rules: Can be a starter or a drabble. I can send it to you however you want. An @ post, ask, send it to you on disco. You can send your preferences how ever you want. Reblog this, send me an ask, dm. Just pick a monster and a setting! My muse can be the monster or your muse can. Can be NSFW or not. Just be clear af about what you want.

If you want to opt out, totally fine! If you want to avoid being spammed with the list than block the tag #silvers monster list

Muse will be subjected to certain physical changes depending on monster.

Monster List:

Vampire: Pointy teeth, ashen/pale

Werewolf: Human form normal, usually wolf form is big and scary humanoid

Dragon: Usually has a human form with some dragon like aspects if so desired(wings and horns). Or can be totally human with the faint hint like oblong pupils and sharp teef

Incubus/Demon: smol horns and little tail when low level. Big scary horns and long whip like tail when higher level

Merperson/Siren/Oceanid: Dealers Choice if they got the fish tail or are more like the og, which are beautiful human formed nymphs who lure unsuspecting souls to the water

Kitsune: Fox sprites. Known for their mischievous nature and trickery. But they can also be contracted to corrupted souls as a guide/servant of sorts. Usually have fox ears and tail in human form.

Cryptid: idk make them spooky and weird. Mix them with an animal or two into a corrupted form

Oni: big scary ogre monster. One to three horned. Good for size difference stuff.

Dryad/Nymph: human like forest sprites that are tied to nature. Dryad more tied to a certain tree. They’re supposed to be drop dead irresistible and to harm their home would harm them

Fairy: up to you if ur thinking fun sized or not. Some fae/fairy lore has them usually as human like with some odd aura about them and have a trait of some sort. Like dream weaving or influencing the mind

Witch/Wizard: a person of magical abilities

Elf: the sexy kind not the keebler kind. With the long pointy ears and long beautiful lines in their designs.

Chimera of some kind: idk if muse has a second form or some kind of transformation incorporate something spooky or different to monsterfy it.

Free card: request a monster not on the list. So long as they can still communicate in some way.

Settings:

In universe

Modern

Feudal fantasy

Lab/Containment

Location inspired by said monster like European medieval fantasy or greek mythos

Other medias/Universes

Finally:

Yes you’re totally welcome to hmu where we can talk details if you’re unsure where to start. I’m a monster banger expert 😎

I left it pretty sfw on here just to not spam you a list of porny things but if you want more you know I’m down for more. Any kind of crazy fun thing that comes with monster boinking will be present so let’s hash it out however you want and make it happen baddy!

Just follow my blog rules. Thats the only condition. Go crazy otherwise.

No limited slots or a one and done. If you want a couple of different prompts that’s totally fine too. But to avoid congestion where you request a bunch at the same time and I can’t work down a list of people I would greatly appreciate if you wait until I post your first request before you ask for another. Ok love you.

[captainswanwipwednesdays]

CS WIP Wednesday Challenge (an evergreen list)

A new WIP writing challenge every week! Dust off your keyboards and bust out your red pens, because we're summoning the muse whether she likes it or not 🧚‍♀️

Feel free to jump in and out as you please - just make sure to tag us so that we can reblog all your updates!

If the week's prompt doesn't work for you, write anything you want! Write what calls to you! Just write something! The same fic can also be used for more than one prompt!

Week 1

👻 The WIP haunting you most (you know which one it is - it's the first one that came to mind when you saw this challenge)

Week 2

👵 Your oldest posted WIP (can you even remember what year it was when that one first went up?)

Week 3

🥰 Your favorite WIP (which one do you actually WANT to be writing right now, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it)

Week 4

🕛 The WIP that has gone the longest without an update (have pity on us readers please)

Week 5

💡 The WIP that has all the notes/outline already done but you haven't managed to start (that's half the work done already!)

Week 6

🎂 The WIP you most recently updated (more cake!)

Week 7

🤏 Your shortest WIP (as in the one that will be the shortest, so short that you can totally write it... right? right.)

Week 8

🤷‍♀️ Any WIP - 500 words (shake that muse until words fall out - any words at all!)

Week 9

📜 Your longest WIP (look how many words you've already written! What's a few more?)

Week 10

🫶 Your WIP with the least amount of notes (let's give it the attention it deserves!)

Week 11

☝️ A oneshot WIP (come on, you can do it! It'll totally stay a oneshot....)

Week 12

🔥 That smutty WIP/scene you've been avoiding (suck it up and write the smut - or fade it to black - just don't let a little smut stand in your way!)

Week 13

☹️ The WIP you started and abandoned/decided not to post (don't let that WIP be an orphan!)

Week 14

🙌 Your posted WIP with the most comments/kudos/notes (give the people what they want!)

Week 15

✍️ That one scene/bit of dialogue in a WIP you don't want to/haven't been able to write (make them do the thing or say the thing even if they do or say it badly!)

Week 16

🃏 Dealer's choice (whatever your heart desires, writers, that's all we want you to have)

Week 17

😈 A new WIP (You've already got so many on the go... what's one more?)

Week 18

😭 That WIP that's going to be so long and involved you don't even want to think about it (Time to bite the bullet and write that first/next sentence)

Week 19

🪈 The WIP you talked about but never started (we're waiting - time to pay the piper...)

Week 20

👀 Let someone else pick which WIP they'd love you to update (it's not peer pressure if it's your friends right?)

🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋

Feel free to send me any suggestions you might have and we can add them to the list - There will be a weekly post as well for each topic as a reminder.

Happy Writing!

[ozarkthedog]

Happy birthday Ozzie, and congratulations on your follower milestone!!! You beautiful bean, I'm so glad this hellsite put us in each others' paths.

📝 For location-based smut prompt, Tim Rockford and dealer's choice of

public -8 inside one muses’s office. OR public 9 - inside a third party’s office they shouldn’t have access to. 

Just need this man to get freaky with me in an office setting is what I'm saying because look at him:

😭 i’m thankful everyday that we’ve gotten so close! here’s my token of gratitude. 😘💙

18+ mdni. Tim Rockford x f!reader. oral sex (fem receiving). public but private setting — office. special guest.

This is so wrong. 

It was bad enough that Tim was your superior and that you'd been sneaking around for the last month, fucking each other whenever he had a few moments of free time, but using a random co-worker's office? That was flat out stupid. 

Tim drops to his knees in the small room, making quick work of your skirt and hooking one of your legs over his leather holster encased shoulder.

He breathes in deep as he presses the lower half of his jaw against your panty clad mound. "Been thinkin' about this sweet pussy all day." He holds your weary gaze as he slots the thin material to the side and latches his lips around your clit.

Your fingers card through his hair, tugging just so to make him groan into your slick heat. His tongue dances along your slit, dipping between your folds, earning him soft hisses and mewls from your gasping lips.

This is sure to blow up in your faces, but as Tim slides two thick fingers into your dripping core and rubs expertly against your slick walls, you couldn't care less.

"Shit- you're fuckin' soaked." Tim groans as your velvet walls mold to the shape of his girthy digits.

Your spine bows against the corkboard nailed to the wall; it's pinned with a precise diary of information: crime scene photos, newspaper clippings, and various stake-out notes. The small plastic tac heads dig into your skin as Tim sucks your clit into his mouth and vibrates the little button with a deep groan.

Your chest heaves under your blouse as the pleasure steadily mounts. Your hips move on their own, grinding against Tim's stubble and tongue. Brute hands circle your hips, keeping you safe and balanced as your peak draws closer.

He leans back on his heels and stares up at you. His cheeks are flushed a desert pink, and his lips glisten under the dim light as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on my tongue. Wanna taste you." Tim husks before diving back into your cunt with a feral energy you'd only come to know since being with him.

Your eyes flutter closed as the pleasure envelopes you, drowning all your senses. Had your eyes been open, you would've seen the shadowy figure slink through the door just as you were starting to come.

A heavy wave of arousal coats Tim's tongue as he pushes it further into your drenched hole. He grunts at your taste, greedily drinking you down and licking every creamy drop from your swollen cunt as you bite back the wanton moans that threaten to slip from your lips. 

Tremors rake your body as you catch your breath and come back into your body. The foreign, bitter smell of smoke perks your senses. Your heart slams into your throat as a red ember glows from a dark corner of the room. 

"You put on quite a show, Gatita." A deep voice praises from the black abyss. 

Tim moves lightning fast, spinning on the spot and shielding your body from the unknown figure.

Javier Pena steps into the light. Your co-worker and whose office you now had the pleasure of corrupting. 

He stalks toward his desk with a glint in his eye, pinning you and Tim to the floor as he retrieves a folder that's left on top of a mess of papers.

The men exchange silent words while Javier takes a long drag from his cigarette. Tim relaxes, his broad shoulders slightly sagging once he realizes the threat is neutralized. Javier smirked at your wide eyes while he exhaled a lungful of smoke toward the ceiling.

"You should lock the door next time," Javier suggests as he moves to leave. He hesitates, hand perched on the shiny, brass knob before looking over his shoulder. "Unless you're looking for a third person to join." 

Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover

[ghostwise]

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :) for the kiss prompts … or maybe roll a dice and see which one you get 👀 whatever sounds fun ..

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances For Ziraheart, thank you Jay! cw: alcohol as stated on AO3 now!

Lady Shar extolls her faithful when they choose the ways of oblivion; a fact Shadowheart reminds herself of in her quiet and aching moments, in her self-imposed exile from memory, and now, as she pours herself a second cup of wine.

To be untethered from sentiment and obligation is the purest form of freedom. She takes great comfort in knowing that the uncertainty of her life is by design. That her suffering exists to hone her into something sharp and useful and wanted.

When she is a Dark Justiciar, enveloped in Shar’s unconditional embrace with her memories back and her mind complete, this will all make sense. For now she must be patient.

The rush of falling water drowns out the sounds of the party, enveloping her in a bubble of water and moonlight. She’d longed for this peace… longed to share it with someone, too, but she just feels all the lonelier for the absence of music and voices and laughter.

Which is why her heart skips a beat and her lips lift into an effortless smile when her fellow cleric comes into view.

“You made it,” Shadowheart calls out. “Come here. Sit with me.”

She has to speak up, to be heard over the water, and for a moment she second-guesses her choice. But then Zirahuén compensates by sitting right up close to her—closer than they’ve ever lingered in one another’s company—and any worry vanishes from Shadowheart’s mind.

She presses the goblet of wine into Zirahuén’s hands, relishing the brush of their fingers together.

“How thoughtful,” Zirahuén laughs. “I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting long?”

“Not very,” Shadowheart lies.

Zirahuén purses her lips, a convivial smile scrunching her face as she whispers, “Lae’zel and Rolan got into a rather heated argument. That man is braver than I gave him credit for.”

Shadowheart laughs. “This I have to hear.”

There will be time for penance later. For now she’s warmed by the thought that Zirahuén chose, above continuing the celebrations with anyone else, to come to her.

As they chat about their day, their companions, and everything, and nothing at all, Shadowheart feels the knot in her stomach unwind.

It’s odd. They’ve spent weeks in one each other’s company, yet she feels like she’s known Zirahuén much longer. They’ve spent hours deep in heated discussion over such grand topics as death, morality, worship, and the distinct qualities of the soul—yet the conversation tonight feels somehow more significant than all of these.

“A think a toast is in order,” Shadowheart proposes hours into the night. The bottle feels light in her hand as she pours. “Any suggestions?”

Zirahuén doesn’t miss a beat. “To Death,” she proclaims. “That most noble pursuit. The only task which every creature blessed of mortality is undertaking together. The great unifier.”

“To Death,” Shadowheart agrees readily. “May it evade us until just the right moment.”

Zirahuén looks deeply pleased with that. They drink, and she shoots her a look that warms her right to her ears, and sets her heart beating a little faster.

“Well said,” Zirahuén says.

Shadowheart wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I try,” she says with a little smile. “Your Death is not too unlike my Loss. We are a rare sort, you and I; we do not shy away from such things, but instead face them, head-on.”

“As you say. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Zirahuén says. “Shying away, I mean. These are weighty forces in our world, after all. People find them�� intimidating.”

“I don’t,” Shadowheart quips. She shakes her head at the thought.

Zirahuén giggles. “No, you don’t.” Then, with a hint of a sigh, she muses further, “But Death has been with me for so long, it’s like an old friend. It does not frighten me—not anymore. What is considered frightening about Death is never Death itself, anyway. Just experiences adjacent to Death. I think that’s what scares people. Things like pain, illness, loneliness. These things are frightening. I know they frighten me.”

“Do they?” Shadowheart asks, watching her.

Zirahuén nods. “I am afraid, you know. Afraid of catastrophe and plague. Ceremorphosis. Afraid of being apart from the people I… care about. But of Death? Never. It is a comfort, if anything. It’s where the pain stops. It’s where the illness loses. It’s where love is reunited. I know this. I’ve seen it. I swear it.”

Her words are calm and soothing and twist something up in Shadowheart’s gut.

“Silly, isn’t it?” Shadowheart asks, after a moment. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Oh?” Zirahuén raises a brow.

“Of Death,” Shadowheart clarifies. “Oh, to be on your mind half as much.”

Her words falter. She’s missed the mark, imbuing them with a sigh of longing instead of humor—an amateur mistake, she realizes. But Zirahuén is staring at her now with a completely inscrutable look in her eyes.

Shadowheart stalls, feeling unsteady. “What-?”

Zirahuén leans in to kiss her.

Going from not-kissing-Zirahuén to kissing-Zirahuén is like going from cold blue shadows into warm golden sunlight. Shadowheart breaks away with a gasp. Then there’s a tenuous moment of silence.

Zirahuen lowers her head. “I- I’m sorry.”

Shadowheart’s hand spasms, the muscle screaming and twitching all the way up her forearm. She’s never ignored anything harder.

“Oh, hush,” she whispers.

Zirahuén’s surprised expression melts into one of joy and relief as Shadowheart loops her arms around her shoulders, and pulls her in for another kiss.

There’s a warning taste of wine with it. They’re both experienced enough to know; to ignore the trembling in the hips and the warmth pouring over their skin. To keep this very civil, even as Zirahuén’s exhale dances across Shadowheart’s cheek, and Shadowheart lingers on the softness of the contact between them.

No matter how much they’d like to carry on. This much wine makes for a headache in the morrow, and this is delicate as it is.

So Shadowheart breaks the kiss and, with a little groan, slides into the crook of the other woman’s neck.

They’re really such fragile things. Mortal and fleeting and prone to all sorts of pains and misfortunes, left reeling at the whims of gods and fortune alike. But if Zirahuén is okay with it, so is she.

She lets Zirahuén hold her.

They can talk about it later.