#saccharine Herb

[pellucid-constellations]

Only in Dreams

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: In his dreams, Azriel recounts how he got to his mate.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Some angst, mentions of injuries

a/n: Hi this is my first acotar fic idk what I'm doing. I've been reading them for years so here's a little one for fun <3 I know it's different from my usual but inspiration is a finicky creature :) Also, italics denote flashbacks.

~~

There was very little Azriel wouldn’t do for his mate. 

He had learned that early on. 

In those early days, when the bond had made itself known to only him, there was so much confusion and strife within the shadowsinger. He had known you for decades, admired you from afar, and befriended you under self-made pretenses. You were a light, a healer, too good and sweet to be anything to him other than a friend, a coworker. 

But you were also his mate. 

The air had been knocked from his lungs at the realization. 

“Is everything okay?” you had asked, sweet confusion bunching at your brows. 

And Azriel couldn’t answer, not for several long beats. 

“Az, what’s wrong? You look like Cassian after he took that weird herb Majda wanted me to test.”

Another bout of silence, this time accompanied by soft, warm hands along his cheeks. You leaned in, the sweet scent knocking him out of his stupor. As he jerked back, you only followed, blinking in surprise. 

“Azriel—” 

“I apologize,” he finally—weakly—stammered out. “I was talking with Rhys.” 

“You were talking with Rhys?” 

It hadn’t sounded much like a question, but Azriel nodded anyways, enraptured by you and your closeness. He needed to get away, to leave. You were too close. He was too weak. 

But then you giggled, and the sound was so melodic and saccharine that he found himself breathless again. He could get lost in that sound. If he was being honest with himself, he had gotten lost in that sound plenty of times before. But now… now. Gods, now you were his mate. 

As you laughed some more, teasing retorts echoing in the air, Azriel knew you had no idea. 

And, as Azriel had learned, that was fine. You didn’t need to know. Because he knew, and that was enough. 

Enough for the overwhelming devotion he felt for you to finally have substance. To finally be validated. 

You were his—everything sweet and good was his to protect. And, gods, did he want to protect you. 

You made that very difficult in the weeks after the bond had snapped for him. His instincts were in overdrive, taking note of your every move and praying to the cauldron that you were careful when he was sent on missions and you stayed back in Velaris. He had nothing to worry about when that was the case. The inner circle loved you almost as much as he did. 

But then Rhys decided you were needed. 

With an unreciprocated mating bond and a mate that cared so little for her own self-preservation, that had been Azriel’s worst nightmare. 

“Reconsider.” 

“There is nothing to reconsider, Azriel. We need a healer in Windhaven to show them that the clipping won’t be seen to fruition. And y/n just so happens to be our court healer,” Rhys carefully explained for the third time. 

“Send Majda.” 

Rhys held the bridge of his nose. “There is a reason y/n took over her post. Madja is far too old to be making those kinds of trips.” 

“Send anyone else,” Azriel rasped, a tightness to his words. 

“No. She is the best. It will only be for a few weeks and Cassian—” 

“Rhysand.” 

Rhys paused at the desperation laced within his brother’s tone. He removed the fingers attempting to abate the ache along his temple and observed Azriel’s clenched fists and restless shadows. Rhys’s lips parted in shock, his eyes blinking in quick succession. Something clicked within his gaze.

“Is she…” 

The muscle in Azriel’s jaw quivered. “Just don’t send her there. Please.” 

Rhys raised a hand to run down his jaw. “My gods, Azriel. This is…this is—does she know?” 

“No,” he replied, quick and low. 

“I understand what you’re feeling, but I can’t stop her. You know that, brother.” 

And, unfortunately, Azriel knew that. 

When you set your mind to something—when you knew you were going to help people—that was it. There would be nothing keeping you from helping those in need. Especially the Illyrian women. Azriel was pretty sure you kept a dartboard somewhere in the house with Lord Devlon’s face on it. 

He loved that about you, truly he did. But it also made you reckless.

There were plenty of instances where you burned yourself out from healing. You would come home swaying on your feet or be so depleted you couldn’t even winnow correctly. He could count on two hands the amount of times you passed out at the dinner table after work. When he thought about you doing that in Windhaven… Azriel couldn’t even stomach the thought. 

“Then order her,” Azriel gritted out. He could hear you coming. You and Cassian, bags packed, chatting down the hall about something insignificant. 

Why couldn’t he come, again? 

Right, because he would “stir up the camp” or whatever obtuse reason Rhys had given him. 

“You know that won’t go over well,” Rhys countered. 

“Neither will the entirety of Windhaven if she gets hurt.” 

Azriel’s threat fell on deaf ears as you came bounding into the room, bright and determined and smiling at him as if you weren’t leaving. 

“Here to see us off, Az?” 

That trip to Windhaven had been awful—for Azriel and for you. Rhys’s “ordering” hadn’t been effective, and neither had Cassian’s ability to pick up on context clues. As you stood, baffled at Rhys’s sudden change in plans, Cassian didn’t so much as look at Azriel’s subtle vies for assistance. Because Cassian had been just as baffled as you were. 

So, you went to Windhaven. 

And then you came home hurt. 

Not terribly, just a few cuts and a black eye that rivaled his own from the last time he trained with the Valkyries. 

Cassian explained that there had been a fight unrelated to you, but you had gotten caught up in it. He suspected it was a ploy to get hands on you, but Azriel had stopped listening to him the second you landed on the balcony with stitches on your forehead. The moment he saw your hands bandaged and your eye purple and blue. 

You had laughed about your inability to fight, knocking an injured hand into Cassian’s side as he jested that it was time for you to get into the training ring with him. Later, Azriel would agree with that sentiment. In that moment, however, unparalleled fear had coursed through his veins. Rhys was the only one ready for it. 

Cassian’s back slammed into the far wall of the house, wings splaying out against stone. Azriel’s shadows were gone as he held his brother against the wall, abandoning him in favor of wrapping around your wounds. 

Azriel thought he heard you scream. 

“You said you would protect her!” he seethed, pushing his forearm against Cassian’s throat, blue siphon blazing atop his hand.

“Azriel, stop!” Your call went unheard. Rhys stood ground in front of you, arm jutting out when you tried to get around him. 

Cassian pushed back against him, face twisted in confusion. “I did. I pulled her from that fight as soon as I could, Az. You think—” his words cut off with another shove from his brother “—you think I would have let anything happen to her on purpose?” 

Azriel growled, low and dangerous. “All I think is that my mate came back looking like that when you swore to take care of her. You swore.” 

The room went silent, stagnant. Even the shadows halted their appraisal of you as you held onto Rhys’s arm. Cassian stopped fighting. Somewhere down the hall, the rushed footsteps of some other member of the family abruptly stopped. 

“She’s your mate?” 

“Azriel—” Your whisper was lost in the lingering chaos of the room. 

The time after was a blur for Azriel. He knew he left the balcony, retreating to his room hastily after sending you a longing, apologetic glance. He knew you called after him, that you were breathless and shaking and Rhys kept holding you back… telling you to give him some time to cool off. 

He didn’t need time. He needed you, and Azriel had been positive that would never happen now. 

Half of his shadows joined him in his room, engulfing him as he sat on his bed with his head in his hands. The other half stayed with you, still worried about the pain that you had endured. It was a miracle you hadn’t sent them away. They would have listened to you if you had. They would always listen to you. 

When the door creaked, his shadows covered him even more, encasing his fear and worry and embarrassment into a shell that kept him safe. 

He was a fool. 

“Azriel?” 

He had to be imagining the sweet trill of your voice. There was no way you had come for him, not after all of that. But soon, your shoes slinked into the mess of shadows between his legs, and a bandaged hand gently guided his chin up. 

When he met your eyes, his shadows circled faster. His wings fell lower and lower against the bed, giving himself up to your gaze. 

“Azriel,” you repeated, music within the swish of dark air. “Care to explain, shadowsinger?”

The bruises on your face made his stomach turn. He went to look away, to escape this physical and mental turmoil, but you only locked your wrists and kept him there. 

It took him a moment, but he finally relented. 

“You are my mate,” he spoke, gravely and unsure—even though that was the one thing Azriel was sure of above all else. “You are my mate and you are hurt. I am sorry for my actions… if I scared you or—” 

“I wasn’t asking about the display of male violence on the balcony.” Your teasing smile made some of his shadows rest.

It also made hope swell within the deepest parts of Azriel’s wearied chest. 

You didn’t look forlorn at his offhanded declaration, nor did you look repulsed. You just looked like… you. You looked at him as you always had, and maybe that meant something. 

Maybe that was something for Azriel to hold onto. 

“How long have you known?” you asked, when he spent a moment too long admiring the upturn of your mouth. 

Azriel blinked, moving his eyes back to your own. “A while.” 

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” You didn’t sound accusatory, or even angry as he was sure Feyre had all those years ago. You only sounded sad. That made it worse. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Azriel stressed, leaning forward on the bed to capture your legs between his. “I wanted to, I just—y/n, I just…” 

There was no solid explanation. You didn’t rush him as he stumbled over his words—you were patient, as you always were. You were patient and Azriel was a coward.

Determination set a line in his brow. 

“I was a coward,” he affirmed. “I didn’t want to push you away… to make you feel unsure or pressured. You are… you are everything. You have been everything to me for many years now. If I had ruined that—if I had pushed something upon you that you did not want—” 

“Has it occurred to you, Azriel, that I would very much like to be your mate?” 

Azriel paused his spiel, licking his drying lips as he searched your eyes for the lie. 

“Only when I dream.” 

You had kissed him after that, all bruised and scratched and broken, and Azriel found himself dreaming.

As he stared at you across the sitting room, surrounded by your raucous, disruptive family, Azriel dreamed again. The glow of the fire lit up the side of your face as you laughed, sending warmth up the long-accepted mating bond, and he dreamed of you in every iteration of his life. 

And he would do anything to keep that dream alive.

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

phase O.1 // phase O.2

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

tw: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), possessive/obsessive behavior, somnophilia, object insertion, blood/violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, kidnapping/imprisonment, implied forced relationship, unbalanced power dynamic, enemies to lovers vibe

notes: here it is besties. thank you all for being so patient with me. and thank you to all the lovelies who've commented/msgd me asking about it and wanting more. im just so glad to share my unhinged obsessions. i do have plans to make a third part, but again, could be a bit. so sorry ahhh.

You hadn’t realized you were stolen to sleep. Sobbing yourself into the veiled shadows of your mind in the arms of something—someone—so haunting. A damning surrender on your part. It was a miracle you had the pleasure of opening your eyes. When the moon crawler could have offered you death instead.

When your lashes winged wholly, the haze of a night-dark bedroom washed your sight. You breathed in your surroundings. The linen bed sheets beneath your fingertips, a worktable littered with dried herbs and vials, and a vaulted chest for storing valuables. A simple room one would toss a coin for a night at a common tavern. 

With effort, you pulled yourself to your knees. The weight of clothes shifted against your body. Looking down, you pinched the fabric of a clean gown. And when a hair strand fell to your cheek, you caught the faintest scent of lavender and nightshade. Drifting your attention lower, a mild soreness welled between your legs, accounting for last night's debauchery. A reminder of an ache you could never wash away, no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw. But even scrapping your skin till you bled from bone seemed a better feeling than this.

That thought alone made you pause in your observations and consider the only details that mattered.

Where were you and...

Where was he?

You crawled over to the side of the bed. Pressing your feet against the ground, something like cold iron grazed them. You reached through the dark and secured a dulled paring knife. Your gaze studied an apple not too far away, half peeled from the skin of its flesh. Dropped mid-serving, for whatever the reason was. Knife in hand, you tiptoed to the bedroom door and tried to pry it open. It shuddered against your touch—locked. It seemed the only way to escape was by key, and to your misfortune, you didn’t have to guess who had it in strict keeping.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

A brush of cold licked across your nape. Turning towards the sound, there was another adjoining room. A washroom, perchance. You tightened your hold on the knife, and willed your bare feet forward, swallowing your thudding heart. You counted each step, pausing when a puddle glistened before the doorway. Dark in color and metallic in aroma, a shiver traced your spine as you stepped over it.

Under the door frame, your sight fell upon him, bare and slumped in a wooden bath. You stood still, not daring to flinch, in case he had his own knife hidden beneath the surface tension. When your presence hadn’t been acknowledged, you padded closer. 

Examining him further, you noticed not a lick of a wound, scrape, or gash on his body. Nothing that would substantiate the splatter of blood you'd passed. Falling onto his face, the faintest shimmer stained the corners of his lips. You would’ve deemed him dead if it weren’t for the labored breaths and shivers of his body.

A saccharine taste of flowers sprang to the tip of your tongue. 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you brought the knife a near inch to his throat. You hadn’t noticed the slits of his eyes cracked open, branding you the moment you stepped in. Before you could jerk back, his hand leapt from the bath water. You winced when he took your wrist, expecting him to plunge the blade in your direction. Instead, he lulled his head to the side, and guided your hand to press the sharp edge against the skin of his neck.

“This angle is much better, isn’t it?” Aphelios stated rather than asked, his wet hair flowing like liquid night across his features. “You can stare deeply into the eyes of your enemy, and watch that insignificant light fade from them. Then, and only then, do you know they’re truly dead. If that's what you would like to do to me..." you held your breath and felt the blue of his veins beat against the blade. “Now’s your chance.”

Your hands trembled, his mortal essence flowing right at your fingertips. But the mere thought of relishing red-stained hands overwhelmed you with a bout of nausea, weakening your grasp at the hilt. Even if he deserved every bit of suffering, and for you to celebrate his undoing by a dull carving knife, it wasn’t who you were. 

You refused to be anything like him.

“Strange. Not many Burning One’s would hesitate at the offer. It’s no wonder they locked you away in that sunlit temple.” He released your shaking hand and traced the outline of your face. “Far from the shadows they’ve cast down.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you seethed, tugging your chin away from his touch. He leaned back in the basin, his shoulders taut as he fought against a cough. You narrowed your lashes at a string of blood pouring from his lips. “It’s not my place to deliver your punishment, but your trial of judgment will come. It’s already apparent you’re paying for your transgressions. And I’m glad for it.”

Your words were false against your true sensibilities. Feeling foolish for your heart to ache with sympathy for him, a wretched murderer and lech. The wiser part of you screamed when you set aside the knife, took up a washcloth, and wiped at his mouth. A cord in his jaw tightened, and you noted a life-stealing grip at the tub's edge.

A trained reflex to wrap his fingers around your neck. 

Had you been anyone else.

Had you been anyone else, you would’ve been flayed open across the altar. Had you been anyone else, the pathetic knife you threatened him with would be stuck heart deep between your breasts. Had you been anyone else, She would have commanded your sacrifice. 

You banished the unwelcomed thought.

“The water’s freezing. How long have you let yourself sit here?” His lips merely mirrored a fine line at the question. Under your gaze, you watched another invisible ripple tighten the tethers of his muscles. You exhaled on a presumptive thought. “You can’t move. Can you?” 

The black glass of his eyes stared at nothing, and said nothing. Then and there, that cold existence would rather suffer than utter a single word of admittance. 

“Seems you like to keep quiet when it’s convenient for you.” You quipped, wringing out the washcloth with indignation. “No different from a child throwing a tantrum when it suits them. I should leave you here then. Let whatever you catch take you within a week’s time. It would save a lot of others the trouble.”

His face remained a blank sheet of ice, and you interpreted it as an invitation to do as you pleased. He’d given you the choice to take his life, after all. Now you understood he’d meant every word. Perhaps he even intended to pay a compliment. Not a bluff or jab at your softer nature, even after you had foolishly settled to spare him. 

You banished the strange sentiment. Once you had found a way to get him to bed and asleep, you would scrounge the room for a key. Wherever he had chosen to hide it. 

“Golden Sister, avert your light," you asked for pardon under your breath.

You drew up your hand, calling forth a kindle of golden sunlight. It pulsed and radiated with warmth, kissing the tips of your fingers. The glow of it illuminated your company’s features. That face of marble chipped at the corner of his eyes; a crack of unnerving reproach. When you guided your hand towards the pane of his chest, he ruefully shifted away.

You clicked your tongue. “You’ll let me freely cut your throat, but the moment I try to help, you want nothing to do with it. Either you hold still, or I reconsider your offer. Which one is it?”

He responded with a slowed and pained breath. When he leaned back, you pressed a palm to his sternum.

Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the ebb and flow of warm light reaching for him; through him. When you entered, dark shadows ripped and slashed against your magic. Sharper than daggers of ice, piercing hotter than any black flame. Sweat gathered at your temples. Furrowing your brows, you steeled your magic from shattering and concentrated your radiance. Gradually, the thrashing tendrils subdued into undulating wisps that languidly brushed across your presence.

“I can’t heal whatever sickness you’ve caused yourself. It's unfamiliar to me. And even if I could, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting to spend eternity with your false deity," you admitted, withdrawing. “But I should have eased the pain. Enough for you to manage from here and to bed.”

Without a word, and with what little strength he still possessed, he gripped the lip of the tub. You hooked an arm underneath his own, and his legs trembled as he rose from the bathwater. When he dragged his feet from the bath, he banked to catch himself on the wall with his hand. The unexpected sway almost swept your footing away. With luck, he managed to hold himself as you helped him stagger out of the washroom.

When he dropped onto the bed, the weight of him brought you to your knees beside him. You huffed, prying his arm away from the support of your shoulders. He made no effort to force you to lay with him. Thankfully, the soothing effects of your work made him pliable, gifting you a moment of safe assurance. 

Your gaze roamed the softness that rounded his previously sharpened features. His brows rested light above his closed eyes, and his lashes long and airy curtained over the smooth contour of his cheeks. His face once devoid of color now brushed with a stroke of pink from your magic. If you hadn’t been the wiser, you would’ve believed him to be a completely different person. 

Nothing like a weapon now.

You pulled yourself from your careless observations, remembering time was of the essence if you’d hope of escape. Turning away, ghostly fingertips graced the skin of your cheek. Your breath hitched. Drawn back, his black pearls peeked from their bed of lashes. His lips moved, but deft as the words were, you swore it was a mere breath in the night.

‘...thank you.’

Your heart constricted, abandoning you in a space stolen of thought, let alone a reply. To your horror, the squeeze of your chest wasn't entirely unpleasant. Still, you feared to linger on it, knowing it would sooner kill you if you’d let it. You consciously berated yourself to get away—hurry, hurry! But like a silent poison of its own kind, you suddenly felt weak in spirit. And to no one’s fault but of your own. 

You had drained yourself dry by helping him.

Still in his touch, your body sank onto the bed next to him. He traced the contour of your neck, past the dip of your clavicle, down to the arc of your hip bones. Lingering there, he drew lazy circles against the fabric till it hitched at your waist. His fingers slipped beneath, brushing a hand against the bare skin of your waist. You trembled, weathering the cold bite of his touch. No better than prey submitting to a cruel yet ordained circumstance.

“I should have never…” you swallowed, remorse tightening your throat.

His hand paused—watching a glint of wetness stain your eyes—then pulled you in with devastating gentleness. Resting his brow at your breasts, he enveloped you in his arms, and curled himself bare between your legs. Holding you in an embrace that was more delicate than heartbreak, drawing out a shuddering breath from your lips. 

For what seemed like an eternity, you laid there. Feigning death, praying for your eyes to never close again. Hoping to salvage the opportune moment to escape once he let go. But exhaustion was a beast that stalked your side and sank its fangs in the spots where he held you close. Paralyzing all your nerves till they went flak, dragging your body limp in his touch. 

And your waning consciousness along with it.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Behind closed eyes, the world was dark. An unfeeling landscape where nothing else existed. A state you could find yourself clinging to for the rest of your days to come. If only you were lucky enough to stay. Like a match to your body, a flame curled and burned beneath your dampening skin. The scorch of it trailing the woods of your body. A fire in your blood snaking lower to feed the smoldering spit simmering in your belly.

You shuddered, twitched and bit softly at the bottom half of your lip. Long, devoted fingers cradled your waist as lips graced the lower parts of your stomach. The careful graze of teeth at your navel sent your eyelids fluttering, where a glaze of lingering sleep clouded your vision. Only after a few blinks did you bid the fog away, and woke to the sight of yourself. 

The hem of your nightgown had been shelved above your swollen breasts, revealing nipples perked and coated wet with saliva. A sheen of sweat glistened like oil from mound to curve, and found the wicked Lunari man responsible for your state laid between your legs.

Your lips quivered, struggling to speak through the feverish qualities burning away at your flesh. You couldn’t even attempt to prop yourself up, let alone drag yourself away. Your body felt heavy and drunk off whatever pleasure it had thirsted for and drank without complaint. 

“What are you…” you started, but your voice was too sticky. Too mumbly. Not even swallowing would help. 

“I had a dream about your sunlight. That small, pleasant piece you shared with me last night.” He took pause, flitting his attention up from below, where his black slits narrowed with shameless intent. “I wondered what it would taste like.”

“N–Not down there,” you pleaded out a half-choked whimper. “It isn’t clean.” 

“Isn’t it, though? Have you considered how you might’ve bathed last night? Wondered who could have done it for you.” He trailed feather-light kisses down your inner thigh, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. “Washed your hair. Washed your body. And...” he tempted lower and lower, until the heat of his breaths warmed your folds, making them bloom with ache. "Everything in between.”

“Stop saying things like that. Stop doing things like this,” you said, wanting to speak them as commands. But the crack in your voice watered your tone down to unconsolable weeping. Knowing you had made a terrible mistake. Knowing no amount of your good nature would spare the heat of his mouth from teasing you relentlessly. Knowing you had no control as your cunt dripped itself into a pitiful mess. You tossed your head back and forth, desperate to hide the humiliation of your face in the throws of bedding. 

“Please.” Your chest heaved and shuddered. “Just let me go.” 

"Fated or not, you’ve chosen to stay. First, when you decided not to kill me in my most vulnerable state.” He eased the flat of his tongue over your leaking entrance, dragging it upward to flick your clit. Your hands clasped over your mouth to stifle the degrading noises that dared to leave. “Second, when you helped me to bed and kept it warm with me. And third—”

He plunged the length of his tongue into you, reaching for your center. You cried out through the gaps in your fingers, feeling something clenched deep inside you—and it wasn't his tongue. It was impeccably hard, with a distinct weld, shape and curve. The tip of his tongue swirled and twisted around it, coaxing it to rub along your sensitive ridges on the way out. When it revealed itself at your entrance, he took the object with a bite. A clink of metal between his teeth. With a shuddering gasp, your hips bucked once he slipped it past the squeeze of your hole.

“Even though you held the key inside you this whole time,” he fingered the iron loop and slid it across his tongue. You flushed when he consumed your gaze below. “You waited for me to take it.” 

Your head and heart pounded with blood. When…when did he…?

Before you could object, his mouth reclaimed all your ripe and swollen parts. Graciously kissing, licking, feasting between your legs. Your hips jolted as you squirmed against him. His hands gripped to dimple the softness of your thighs, parting you open like two delicate and succulent halves of a fruit.

Your eyes clenched shut, trying to forge the words that would stop him. But none existed in the pleasurable thickness that drowned your senses, possessing your hips to meet him at each languid lap. Turning your saliva into hot syrup in your mouth. Muddling any conceivable words down to moanful whines, sloppy whimpers, and broken utterances. Completely helpless as every stroke of his tongue made a creamy reduction of your insides, threatening to spill over every edge.

Your nails twisted into the bedsheets, and you broke for breath. “Can’t—n’ more—“ 

The moon devil interpreted your incoherent pleas for mercy as undying praise. Encouraging him to devour you with the passion of a starved man who’d forsaken each meal before you. Listening to a hunger that told him you would be his last, and echoed a fear that it would never be enough.

One last brush of his tongue and he clasped his lips around the bud, suckling on its throbbing plumpness.

A burst of pressure had you coming undone onto his mouth. Wails ripped through the air as your back careened into that awful crescent shape for him. You reached to push him away, but he’d caught your hands before you could lay a finger. You choked out a sob when he tacked your writhing wrists against the bed and continued to worship your taste with his mouth. Savoring every part of your quivers and cries, down to the very last gushing drop induced from your spasms. 

When he had taken his last sip of pleasure, he rose from between your thighs to loom above you.

“You’re exactly as I imagined you would taste.” His voice was a thin whisper on his glistening lips. As if he hadn’t even wanted the walls to hear. A secret only he would ever know, and for you to be the only one he’d share it with. 

He bent forward, panting with an unsatiated appetite against your mouth. “Sweet and warm.”

He took your lips, letting you drink up your arousal. A heavy, generous pour. The dewy tang of yourself flushed your face and neck with color. Your heart raced, gasping for breaths in a blur of moans and kisses. 

Tears of utter shame and frustration dotted your lashes, till they fell over in heaps. Yet, even your tears didn’t go to waste. He traced his tongue over your flushed and burning cheeks, catching every bit like spilled honey. And all you could do was lay there, unable to escape his sensual gilded cage. All the while hating yourself for wanting his mouth all over you—wanting to know how it’d feel claiming every inch of skin.

And hating him all the more for it.

[sxfterhearts]

cookies, necklaces and pigtails

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ non-idol bf!jiung x reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: (very self indulgent) flufffffff

♡ summary: jiung, the ever-loving, sweet boyfriend, meets your extended family for the first time. whilst the rest of the family has reservations against him, your four year old cousin is already a huge fan (read: he may or may not have promised her chocolate chip cookies).

♡ word count: 2,327 words

♡ a/n: thank you sooo much to @hyungseos-cafe for making the moodboard that inspired this :))

//

The sun was shining warmly on the well-kept garden beyond the kitchen windows, providing the roses and herbs your aunt tenderly cared for with some much-needed light to grow and flourish. Your head rested on your palms, watching a stray butterfly breeze past before stopping to admire the white roses. You knew you should’ve been paying attention, but your aunt has been going on and on since the mains were served, so you let her faux-saccharine words slip past you: in one ear, out the other.

You tried to subtly twist your head around in search of your boyfriend, but you didn’t have to look too hard – Jiung stuck out like a sore thumb. His bleached, grey hair bobbing up and down as he helped your mother with the dishes, sleeves of his freshly steamed jacket rolled to expose his lithe, veiny forearms. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and he flashed you an apologetic smile, wordlessly urging you to return your attention to your aunt. After all, he was always the more sensible, responsible and mature one out of the two of you. The exchange only lasted a few seconds though, before his attention was pulled away by your mother. You only caught a glimpse, but you could tell your boyfriend was listening attentively to her, respectfully nodding at all the right places and providing insightful answers. He was such an angel.

Your attention was torn away by your aunt. “Y/N,” she called your name sternly and you cringed. Even your mother had stopped using that particular tone on you years ago.

“Hmm?”

“Are you even listening? Daydreaming again, aren’t you?” She sighed, as though you had dragged your family’s honour through the mud, yet again. “First, you take a break from school. Now, you’re dating that boy? Tell me, are you even serious about him?”

“Imo!”

“Don’t Imo me! I’m asking because it’s what everyone else wants to know as well. They’re just too afraid to ask you about it. So? What’s your answer?”

It was your turn to sigh this time, rolling your eyes for added effect. Why did your family always have to be like this? “Yes, I’m serious! What makes you think I’m not?”

Your aunt tsked in response. “Young love. You will understand when you’re older. You think love will last forever, just because he promised you the world, then one day he wakes up and realises that actually, he doesn’t love you anymore. These things never last, Y/N. Trust me – especially not when they look like that.”

You had to summon all your willpower to not react impulsively in a physical way, fists coming under the kitchen bench to ball into tight fists. Why on earth were your relatives treating your boyfriend with such disrespect when all he ever did since stepping past those doors was be respectful and helpful and friendly? He even went above and beyond by insisting on buying pastries for dessert, to help set up the picnic tables outside and was even washing the dishes. You were fuming on his behalf. “Thanks… for the advice, Imo. If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.” You gritted your teeth, pushing the words out your mouth as you spun quickly on the balls of your feet, eager to get out of the conversation before you said something you couldn’t take back.

On the way to the bathroom, you spotted your boyfriend wiping his hands on a kitchen towel as your mother busied herself with arranging dessert. You hurriedly informed her that you were stealing your boyfriend from her as you grabbed his wrist, pulling him in the direction of the entertainment room.

Your boyfriend complied easily, knowing that something was up the moment you stepped foot into the house. Family was always a touchy subject for you, he knew that much. You got along well with your parents, especially since moving out. Being an only child, the distance certainly helped prevent you from getting smothered by your parents’ love and attention. However, your extended family was a whole different story. Today was the annual family gathering to get your mum’s side of the family together, and you dreaded it every year, like clockwork. Having moved out of the bubble your mum’s family grew up in when you were in primary school, you found it more and more challenging with each passing year to relate to any of your relatives. You found it even harder to put up with their neverending nosiness and nagging.

You’d been to this house many times since your infancy. You knew that as the adults gathered around the dining table and kitchen area, the kids preferred to play amongst themselves outdoors in the garden, leaving the rest of the spacious house empty. 

You breathed an audible sigh of relief as the two of you entered the empty entertainment room hand in hand. You turned around, launching into a rant, “Jiung, I’m so sorry – I know I warned you, but I should’ve seen this coming. It’s just, they’re so, urgh! They’re so annoying! This happens every single year. If it’s not – how did you do in school, it’s – which university did you apply to or what major are you studying. Then it was – what do you do for work, and do you have a boyfriend, or when are you getting married, just…” You sucked in a breath through your teeth, fingers pinching your nose bridge and closing your eyes to compose yourself, trying to contain your frustration. 

As you took several deep breaths, you felt your boyfriend snake his arms around you, his familiar scent mixed with aftershave infiltrating your senses. You could even make out the faint aroma of chocolate chip cookies lingering on his clothes, the aftermath of his brief baking session with your mother. You could feel your tense limbs loosen slightly.

“Y/N,” He said your name, and it made your legs feel like the green and red bits of Jell-O resting in the fridge, waiting to be devoured by your kid cousins. You felt yourself melt even more in his arms as he lightly pressed his pillowy lips against your forehead. “It’s fine, really.”

“But…” You replied in nothing more than a mere whisper. “I feel bad… We were meant to have a relaxing long weekend away at my parents’, who, by the way,” your fingers came to play with the silver necklace hanging around his slim neck out of habit. “Thank goodness – are perfectly normal. How could I forget that we had to visit the rest of the family this weekend?” You huffed, lips forming into what Jiung thought was the most irresistible pout. You were clearly disappointed that your weekend away had not gone as you imagined.

“It’s definitely okay. Besides,” He paused to tug your bottom lip out of the pout and tuck your fringe behind your ears. “I like making cookies. And your mum and I make a good dishwashing team.” Jiung gave you one of his smiles, the ones that make your insides feel all warm and fuzzy, and you couldn’t help but return it with a gummy smile of your own. He always seemed to have this sort of effect on you, always able to disarm your short fuse and bring you back down to earth with a warm touch and a tender smile.

“Eonnie!”

“Oh?” The two of you have never pulled away so fast, basically separating from each other at the speed of light. 

“Looks like we have a visitor.” Jiung announced, turning towards the entrance to find your youngest cousin, a little four year-old girl dressed in a pink princess dress and pigtails. “Hello, little one.”

“Oppa!” You could tell the little girl, Haeun, was way more interested in playing with your boyfriend than you. “Cookies!” That must’ve been why. Jiung told her he was baking cookies with your mum after family lunch, which clearly piqued her interest.

“They’re not ready yet, little one. Do you want other desserts instead? We chopped up some fruit earlier as well.” Jiung replied in a soft voice that was gentler and sweeter than usual. You smiled, watching as he lowered himself to her height, approaching her with a tiny wave, which she returned.

“No fruit, I want cookies.” She replied adamantly.

“I see stubbornness runs in the family.” Jiung teased under his breath, soft enough only for your ears. You laughed in response as you looked around for something to preoccupy your baby cousin. It was an entertainment room after all, surely there would be some books, or a soft toy…

“What’s that?” Haeun asked, curious.

“What’s what?” Jiung replied, now sitting cross-legged next to the girl. You could practically hear the smile in his voice. It seemed like your youngest cousin had your boyfriend wrapped around her little finger.

“This one, it’s shiny!” She took a few quick steps towards him before collapsing and melting into his outstretched arms, fingers coming to grab at the sparkly pendant of his necklace.

It was your second anniversary gift. Jiung had always liked jewellery, and would occasionally talk about how he’d always wanted to wear more accessories but didn’t know how or where to start curating pieces to match his outfits. You offered up your own collection of silvers and golds, but opted to get him a silver necklace when he graduated from borrowing your rings and necklaces (in reality, he had misplaced one too many chains and you were starting to run low) – his had a silver sun pendant, while yours was a matching gold. 

“Oh, this?” He glanced down at the pendant. “It’s a sun. Y/N has a matching one. She got it for me as a present.”

“Bingo!” You cheered as you found a bunch of crayons held together with hair ties and a few pieces of paper (you didn’t question it, knowing that your aunt had two toddlers herself which threatened her vision of running the perfect, tidy household). “Do you want to draw a necklace for yourself, Haeun?”

She nodded happily, running over to you and plopping down on the floor. The three of you gathered together and began to pick out your favourite crayon colours. As you settled on drawing and colouring, you pretended to hide your artworks from each other if one of you dared to sneak a glance at the other’s, leading to several fits of laughs and giggles.

Haeun, ever the observant child, noticed that your boyfriend kept having to brush his hair away from his face while his lanky body was hunched over his drawing. She reached out with grabby hands and tried to comb chunks of his silvery locks into a makeshift ponytail. 

You could see her vision, and couldn’t help but to smile at the sweet interaction. “Here, let me help.”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend looked up at the two of you, slightly confused.

It wasn’t like it was his first rodeo. You often held his hair back with a headband before cooking or washing his face, and sometimes tied his hair up for him when he was busy doing work. With Haeun working on one side and you on the other, you two girls fashioned Jiung’s hair into two (slightly mismatched) pigtails.

After a few more minutes of silent colouring, “I’m done!” Haeun declared, setting down her crayon. She held out her masterpiece, exhibiting it excitedly to you and your boyfriend. “See, it’s us!”

Indeed, your baby cousin had drawn you and your boyfriend, holding hands, and a little girl next to them, in a pink dress much like the one she was currently wearing. All three of you had bunny-looking ears, presumably to match the pigtails, and matching necklaces. You and Jiung showed her your artwork, but unanimously agreed that Haeun’s was the best out of the three. You made a mental note to go necklace shopping for her later today.

“Haeun! Haeun?” The voice of her mother, your younger (and favourite) aunt, filtered through the hallways.

“She’s in here!”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought you were outsi – Oh!” Your aunt stood at the doorway, pleasantly surprised at how well-behaved her active daughter was. “You got her to sit down. Great job guys!”

“Look, mummy! We drew some pictures!” Haeun ran towards her mother’s feet, passing her the drawing before hugging her feet.

“Wow, you did a great job, sweetie! Are those necklaces?”

“Yes, oppa said eonnie gave it to him as a present.”

The two of you stole glances at each other, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Did she? Well, your Y/N eonnie must like Jiung oppa very much. Speaking of which,” Your younger aunt turns towards you and Jiung. “I think she’s disturbed the two of you enough now. I’ll distract her with some cookies so you two can get some alone time.” She flashed a knowing smile, and you had to fight the urge to combust in embarrassment.

“We had lots of fun playing with her, imo.”

“Oh, I see she’s done your hair too! And the necklaces, you’re wearing them. Ah, young love,” She sighed wistfully. “How adorable.”

“Cookies! Mummy, I want cookies!”

//

epilogue.

“So, how many do you want?” Jiung asked under his breath, feigning nonchalance whilst his lips worked itself into a sheepish grin.

“How many what?” You asked, distracted. You were trying to find the covers for takeaway containers amongst the pile of dishes.

“Kids, of course.”

A soft clang echoed throughout the now-empty kitchen as you dropped the empty container. Your cheeks reddened so much that when Jiung turned around to check on you after a long silence, he had to cool them down with his hands, which were freezing cold from handling the ice box.

“Too soon?” He couldn’t help but tease, chuckling to himself at your stunned expression.

You nodded.

After a few beats, you whispered, “two, maybe.”

[pearlwithgirl]

Wordless Conversations

John Price x gn!reader

Fluffy fluff - 1200 words

(a subtle hint of smut, but in the way that a La Croix seems like it has been flavoured by sitting in the same room as a strawberry)

~

A syrupy sweet drabble about words spoken without the need for speech.

It’s hard not to stare. The late summer glow slides across the expanse of your property, and John is leaned up against a quaintly crooked fence post, knitting his brow in mild exertion. Cushioned muscle draws your eye as he lifts his shirt to wipe the soil and dew off his face. He always loves a sun shower, gentle sheets of rain dyed golden by a low-hanging sun.

He’s harvested the last of the herbs and vegetables for tonight’s dinner - leeks, potatoes, sweetcorn, and dill. They’ll meld together so nicely, mellow and hearty as the whitefish flakes apart on your tongue. He’ll melt into his chair after polishing off the soup (an old family recipe) and give you a warm look, eyes crinkling, hand on his belly. The expression will say “This is just what I needed. This - and you.”

You’re busy getting a head start on dessert, fragrant steam from bubbling berries curling through the air in a saccharine wisp. Sweetened red currants, loganberries, and crab apples stew before you as John pops a cherry tomato into his mouth. The fruit will pair well with chilled cream and buttery shortcake - dessert with a nightcap before you meet in the shower and tumble into bed together. 

John’s face smooths out and he smiles as he watches Laska dart over patches of clover and between berry bushes - she’s always chasing butterflies. He snacks on a few pilfered strawberries as he reclines against the cedar planks, crossing his legs in front of him. Your pup playfully bows before she leaps into the air once again, arcing gracefully before barrelling into John’s side. He ruffles her fur as she wiggles in his lap and his laugh rings out above the tinny sound of the heirloom radio. 

You remember this song. So does he. The melody wafts through the window and he turns to face you, illuminated by tinted shafts of sunlight and whirling fractals cast out by the stained glass rim above your swimming head. Those strong brows quirk up and you know he’s thinking the same thing as you are.

“Remember that night in Copenhagen?” He asks you silently, grin turning sentimental and wry. 

Of course you remember. That’s where it all began - on glistening cobblestones outside of a cafe from a past life. Somehow, his eyes light up even more as your face grows dreamy, and that sarky smile goes saccharine - syrupy sweet.

You’ll never grow tired of that look. It says “You are my sunshine, my favourite thing in the world,” “You and I - it’s as easy as breathing,” “I miss you,” even though you’ve been apart for scantly more than a single chime of the clock. A lazy grin peels across your face and you catch a gentle quake in his shoulders.

He takes you in, chuckles, and brings two fingers up to tap his nose. - “You’ve got a little something right here, sweetheart.” 

Your face heats up as you wipe the smear off your face and suck the vanilla-speckled sweet cream from your thumb. You savour the little honeyed cloud, and with a tilt of your head, you beckon him toward the house.

It’s funny, isn’t it? The extensive communication that happens without a single utterance - hidden meanings and professions flowing easily over crags and cobbles that would have been hindrances for a pair less bonded. 

To others, he may come off as coarse or abrasive, while you could be glinting, sharp - but you’re nothing more than frosted sea glass to each other. Rare finds - blushing rose and stormy violet. You’ve smoothed each other’s edges, found yourselves moulded seamlessly to one another. 

Sweet words are shared in abundance, vocalized, but they’re not necessary much of the time. The two of you have learned to move in tandem, to have conversations with heated looks, gentle hands, vice versa, and everything in between.

“I need you, John,” as you walk through the door, face steeped in sorrow, little diamonds clinging to your lashes and tumbling down your cheeks.

“I’ve got you - I’ll always take care of you, sweetheart,” as he wraps you up in his arms and rocks you back and forth, rain playing a staccato lullaby while he cradles your head right next to his heartbeat.

“You’re mine,” in the midnight umbra, where heated breaths are exchanged and swallowed up greedily. 

“You fit so perfectly into my arms,” as he cages you in, bracketing you in between bulky forearms. You feel it again when he draws you in close, head tucked neatly under his chin, sleepy and satisfied.

“You are my comfort, my safety, my home,” while you blink slowly up at him, lashes fluttering around dripping adoration.

“You are the joy of my life,” as he levels you with a look of reverence and a mouth full of cake, legs touching under the table. Every hellish moment you’ve endured together holds nothing more than the weight of a papercut in comparison to the magnitude of what you feel for each other, what you've built. 

You delay the post-dinner cleanup so you can sway back and forth in the timber swing out back. With Laska tucked under one arm and you under the other, he downs the last sip of rhubarb cider, enjoying the view beside him in lieu of the remnants of rainbow and sunset. You know this expression too - better than any other. It paints a more colourful image than the one on the horizon. It holds memories, devotion, proclamations, and vows. He wore the same look on your wedding day - a strawberry-sweet smile and glassy eyes to go with the rosy pocket square from Copenhagen. 

After the dishes are done (he washes, you dry), you linger under the arch of the threshold, finger stalled over the brass switch as you look around the room. Your nostalgia-laden gaze roves from John’s grandmother’s old pie plates to the moss green tiles he installed around the picture window. Trinkets are scattered across the hearth, a lovely landscape filled with photos of found family and homemade knits and ceramics. Every bit and bauble, down to the simplest fruit-stained recipe card, has been carefully curated and cherished over years of blissful benediction. You think you’ve found heaven on Earth, and it’s not a place - it’s him.

He slings an arm around your middle and you rub a soothing thumb over his hand, leaning back into the crook of his neck. Your eyes fall shut as he presses his lips to the crown of your head. There’s a shared sentiment in your mutual touch.  

“Thank you for giving me this life.” 

You exhale in unison, shimmying around to face him, placing a palm on his cheek. His larger hand eclipses yours, and the expression on his face goes downy-soft. Right now, his baby blues hold your favourite look of all. It flickers warm and bright, comforting and exhilarating all at once, and it’s mirrored in your own half-lidded eyes. You know exactly what it means - it flavours every interaction and perfumes the room along with viridian herbiness and the sweet tang of berries. 

Three little words hang softly in the air as you flick the light off and stride down the hall hand-in-hand.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Food

A compilation of notes on how to describe food in writing.

How to Describe Food: Flavour & Texture

1. Write about the flavour.

Rich -> full, heavier foods. Often used to describe foods containing cream (e.g., potatoes & garlic, soup, and chocolate cake).

Bland -> has little or no flavour.

Bitter -> a tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour (e.g., coffee).

Citrusy -> a bright flavour (e.g., lemons, limes, oranges, and other citrus fruits).

Fresh -> a light and crisp taste. Often used to describe produce or herbs. (e.g., apples, lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, etc. Or bakery items like breads, muffins, etc.)

Fruity -> any taste reminiscent of sweet fruit flavours (e.g., grapes, blueberries, peaches, etc.).

Smoky -> a taste reminiscent of the smell of smoke (e.g., BBQ).

Sour -> a biting, tangy, tart flavour (e.g., lemons, Sour Patch Kids, and other sour candies).

Sweet -> a sugary flavour (e.g., candies, ice creams, desserts, etc.).

Zesty -> a fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour (e.g., tacos, Italian pasta salad, etc.).

2. Write about the texture:

Mushy -> soft, but in an unpleasant way (e.g., if you cook vegetables too long, they’ll get mushy).

Tough and chewy -> are similar. Both describe foods which are difficult to eat because you have to chew them for a long time (e.g., meat can be tough or chewy, especially if it’s cooked too long and it gets dry).

Tender -> similar to ‘soft’, but it’s mostly used to describe meat which is cooked well, so it’s soft and juicy.

Crunchy -> food that makes a lot of noise when you’re eating them (e.g., dry food – like potato chips, or hard cookies – can be crunchy).

Words to Describe Different Flavours

For rich, spicy, or savoury flavours. The following words represent complex, spicy, or flavourful seasonings and dishes: buttery, caramelized, peppery, piquant, salty, sapid, saporous, savoury, smoky, and spicy.

For sweet or fresh flavours. These descriptors characterize fresh or sugary dishes: ambrosial, bittersweet, bright, fruity, honeyed, minty, nectarous, saccharine, sharp-tasting, sweet, syrupy, treacly, and zesty.

For subtle flavours. Some dishes are on the milder side. You can use one of these words to describe the taste: bland, mellow, tasteless.

For sour flavours. A sour or complex taste can be challenging to articulate. Here are some descriptive words to help: astringent, briny, citrusy, fermented, sour, tart, and vinegary.

For hard or crunchy textures. Use these words to describe a crispy or chewy texture: broiled, caramelized, crusty, flaky, leathery, sizzling, thick, thin, toasted, and toothsome.

For soft or fluid textures. These words can help you describe drinks, desserts, or other soft items: crumbly, doughy, fizzy, gooey, juicy, luscious, mashed, mushy, rubbery, runny, simmered, smothered, spongy, sticky, tender, velvety, and waxy.

For the smell of food. Here are common food adjectives you can use to describe smells: acrid, astringent, bright, citrusy, fermented, heady, honeyed, minty, nutty, peppery, pungent, rancid, rotten, smoky, sour, and vinegary.

Tips for Describing Food in Writing

Be specific. There are a lot of food words that are vague or general, like “delicious,” “yummy,” “succulent,” “delectable,” “mouth-watering,” or “finger-licking.” Avoid these overused phrases. Focus on the food's particular flavour, texture, or smell to make your writing more evocative and precise. Rather than describing a soup as “tasty” or “scrumptious,” try more specific words like “buttery,” “chunky,” or “minty.”

Consider your purpose. Decide if your goal is to explain a culinary experience or make the food sound appetizing. A clear understanding of your intention and target audience can help you shape your writing to be the most compelling.

Evoke all the senses. While you lean heavily on taste to describe food, remember to explore the texture, smell, sight, and sound of a dining experience as well. Including sensory language that incorporates the other senses creates a more robust experience for readers.

Sometimes less is more. Food writing is most effective when it’s focused, allowing readers to zero in on the essential details of the dish. If you include too many descriptors or attach multiple adjectives to each noun, you can overwhelm or confuse readers.

Sources: 1 2 3

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[fleetingcalypso]

Even children can act as Kings, even Kings can act as children.

≋ There is a certain joy in acting childish with one's lover at times. Far too often with time we become accustomed to a routine and abandon that carefreeness. Play harmless pranks on your beloveds, it is worthy if only to hear their laugh, see their smile lines and their eye crinkle.≋

≋ Cardan Greenbriar x Jude Duarte ≋

≋ Word count: 1350 words.

≋ CW: Mentions of alcohol. This is set sometime after Queen of Nothing, nowhere specific in the timeline, just a dip into Cardan and Jude's married life.

“Quit your squirming and drink this.” Jude’s ever present frown is noticeable even just by the tone of her voice, “I’d rather not have to pry your lips open, pour tea down your throat and risk staining these pristine sheets.” She was met just with an amused hum, coming from the bump currently occupying the High King’s bed, unruly raven strands of hair stand out against the blankets. “Your aim is far too perfect to ever miss my lips, sweetest joy I’ve ever known.” His muffled voice fails to hide the saccharine honey dripping from his words, in fact it did nothing to dissuade her from the matter at hand: make Cardan drink a hot tea to facilitate his return to sobriety. 

Brown eyes roll in annoyance and her free hand itches to throw the covers off his body, pin him to the bed and make him listen to her, but knowing him he’d find no lesson nor punishment from it, only pleasure. “You’ll find that flattery rarely ever is a way to change my mind, Cardan. I won’t repeat myself, sit up and drink.” Oh, how he loves that sliver of a threat in her voice. Reluctantly his form emerges from his burrow, with sluggish movements and a low groan that sounds anything but dignified. He’s sitting up at last, but the worst is yet to come: the herbal tea residing in the golden goblet Jude holds needs to be drank by his royal lips, and if he’s so kindly complied with sitting up, she can only imagine how much the High King is going to whine before he takes even the smallest of sips. To her surprise no whine comes, instead, as Cardan is greeted by a scowling face -of which he is too busy admiring pouty soft lips he knows taste like a golden sunset- Jude is greeted with rosy cheeks,a glazed gaze veiling a trickster’s twinkle and the smallest peek of pearly white teeth biting down on a bottom lip that is still damp with what is most likely faerie wine. For what feels like forever, but very well could have been only a second, the only movement in the room is midnight eyes running across all of Jude’s features, drinking her in like she was the sweetest of inebriants, resting at the very bottom of a bottle, swirling around in a hurricane of red at the slightest movement of his hand. “Every time I look at you, wife, you always look more beautiful than the last. And when I blink, and my eyes are shut, that’s when the magic happens, I can still spot you imprinted in the darkness. That’s never enough for my greedy heart, though, lucky for me when light comes back, you’re still there. You don’t disappear when the dark fades. You never do.” There are the words of a drunk, Jude needs to remind herself: a drunk who is very much in love with her, a drunk who married her and fought against all odds to forever keep her by his side, a drunk who is the High King of Elfhame and who rules on , but a drunk nonetheless. A foolish enamored fae who thinks he can get out of sobriety with the allure of a few sweet words.  No one could be this adoring to another living being, she’s sure of it, he seems to wholly be the contradiction to each and every one of her assumptions about the world. The way his words don’t slur almost turns her into a helpless victim to his charm. Almost. “Drink, Cardan.” Not even a single droplet of tea accidentally rolls down the goblet when she taps the edge of it against his bottom lip. Another hum escapes him as his eyes narrow, maybe the scent of sweet herbs swirled together delights him, or maybe, just maybe it’s her being too flustered to say anything that makes his heart sing.

“This is what I awake for, each day of my lowly life,” he says, his voice swirling in the air like a glamour as his long, rings-clad fingers graze hers while wrapping around the cup, “To hear you say my name, just like that. You make it sound like a curse and a blessing, all at once.” 

“Cardan,” she insists he stops talking and begins drinking. After another moment of admiring her, the corner of his lips curls upwards, he takes just a small sip, barely enough liquid makes it into the warmth of his mouth to be considered one. “Done.” His voice is a level of low she’s heard only a handful of times before. 

The scoff that leaves her is almost comedic, he doesn’t miss a second before his voice from low becomes a purr from the back of his throat, “I’ve done it, my love. Shouldn’t I be rewarded?” Jude’s fingers softly tilt his head up, she should have seen this coming. “You’ll get your reward when you drink all of your tea, you sly, cunning thing.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” He breathes.

“You could always find out.” 

“I don’t need to. I know you’re not lying,” The goblet slips out of his hand and hits the floor with a clunk after he chugs what is probably the sweetest herbal tea ever created. A rivulet descends down his chin and he does not bother to wipe it.

Her world and its views shift when Cardan pulls her onto the bed, next to him with a swift motion. “Reward me, now.” He murmurs, his hand cupping the back of her head, fingers threading through brown locks. He doesn’t have to wait much, she’s eager to give him his prize just as much as he’s eager to receive it. 

Their lips meet in the middle first in a soft kiss, until it evolves and it becomes difficult to ascertain where Jude ends and where Cardan begins. His knee nestles itself between her thighs, her hands slide into his unbuttoned shirt, their breaths are entangled as one. 

“I love watching you fight,” he sighs against her neck, “Even if it’s against me. Especially if it’s against me.” His fingers draw invisible, shapeless figures on her back, sending shivers down her spine, they’re still clothed but when he holds her like this she can’t help but feel naked, completely and utterly naked. 

Their glistening lips meet one last time before Cardan’s hand slides down to intertwine his fingers with hers, “It was worth it.” One slightly confused look from his human goddess prompts him to elaborate, “Having to drink that horrendously sweet tea for the second time. It was worth it, if it got you to look at me the way you do.”

“Second time?” Jude sits up, her head tilts in an even deeper confusion, this time whirling with a blossom of confusion that quickly shifts into annoyance once it clicks. 

His laugh echoes in the room, “Liliver all but forced it down my throat a couple hours ago as you threatened to do, just now. While her… quite intimidating ways have worked on me, I was curious to see how you’d convince me. As it turns out, not even my darling wife can unmask my facade when she’s busy worrying about me.” 

Satisfaction tastes sweet, it tastes even sweeter when a soft pillow hits him a number of times, knowing he was able to trick his quick-witted Jude and that she is retaliating with the one thing she finds comfort in: violence, although a softer, more sensible version of it, is a feeling he’ll never grow tired of. To Jude’s dissatisfaction Cardan’s laugh only grows louder and more melodic.

It’s a bright, warm summer’s day in Elfhame. From Insmire, to Insmoor and Insweal no one has any idea that the High King and the High Queen are busy having a pillow fight in the privacy of their bedroom, not a soul would suspect that just for a moment their monarchs are playing like children, keeping secrets from the world like teens and living their love like grown ups.

[goteigirls]

The morning after

Merry Christmas! These Drabbles are a bit messy please keep in mind! Also It’s hard for me to imagine Soifon with a lover so I tried my hardest with her😭

CW: SUGGESTIVE, flirting, borderline NSFW?

In her arms, you feel the safest. Her cool, gentle arms that have taken countless lives, and would take many more if it meant your safety. Mornings with her after an intense night of passion were filled with whispered words of praise and love, with a bit of teasing sprinkled in.

“Hnnn…” you blinked awake, rubbing your eyes sleepily. You were still in your lover's arms, who you noticed was watching you silently with a saccharine smile on her face.

“Morning Retsu…” your throat was scratchy and sore from the night before.

She watched you snuggle into her arms weakly, your body ached with every movement, “Good morning sweetheart, it seems you have a sore throat, we could have some tea and herbs to remedy that, I’ll go brew some—.”

You cling tighter to Unohana, “Just a few more minutes... You coulda been a bit more gentle last night… then my throat and body wouldn’t have been killing me right now.” You look up at her, your raspy voice just above a whisper. She held back a giggle at your cute state.

“Sorry dear, you were mewing like a kitten, it was so cute that I couldn’t help but want to make you cry louder.”

The heat that traveled up your neck made its way to your cheeks, “must you be so …” you sighed, “I would love that cup of tea right now.”

Soifon, being the one to wake up much earlier than you, would be quiet, opting to play with strands of your hair while admiring your face, whether you’re asleep or not. She’d look at your bare frame, taking note of how soft and beautiful it looked. When you wake up, she places a kiss against your lips as a ‘good morning’, rather than with words.

The sight of you sleeping peacefully by her side was enough to soften her battle-hardened heart. Though she didn’t show it on her face, her heart sang for you, and her fingers danced in the strands of hair framing your face.

Once you wake up, she memorizes the way your facial muscles move and the way your body looks as you stretch the tiredness away. You scoot closer to her, “Did you wait for me to wake up again? You know-“

Lips silence your sentences, you don’t protest, immediately closing your eyes and deepening the kiss. Soifon pulled away from the quick kiss, and your eyes fluttered open.

“I don’t have work today, what do you want to do?” She moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Spend time with you of course!”

“Obviously! But we can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Hmmm why not!” You pouted.

“It’s not good to laze about, besides you wanted to buy a new kimono right?”

“… Alright then, let’s get ready.”

Rangiku is usually sprawled out on the futon with you using her arm as a pillow or snuggling you close to her ample chest, to which you almost suffocated on multiple occasions. When you two are awake Rangiku makes teasing remarks about the night before all while tracing the marks she left on your body.

As you wake up, the first thing you notice is Rangiku lying half off the futon and limbs spread all over the place, one of her arms you had been lying on the past night and only the shared blanket covering the last of her modesty.

You sigh like a love-struck fool and lean over your lover’s face to place a tender kiss on her forehead. Unbeknownst to you, a hand creeps up underneath the covers and a finger traces down your spine, which elicits a yelp from you as it travels downward in a quick motion, and a hand cups one of your ass cheeks.

“Rangiku!” As your eyebrows furrowed, you looked down at her.

She opened one of her eyes to look up at you and grinned innocently, “What a beautiful sight to wake up to!”

You huffed, resting your head in the palm of your hand. “We just woke up and you’re already being so handsy.”

“How can I resist?” Her free arm moves up to your chest to trace purplish marks on your supple skin, “They look so cute on you.”

You look down to see what she was referring to, blushing a deep shade of crimson. “There’s so many…” there a was trail of purple that led to part of your body where the blanket covered.

At least there wasn’t a lot on your neck to avoid unwanted attention.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

I got a massive headache and would like some yandere hyrule comforting reader from a headache

Cw: Implied druging, Yandere behaviour

As another person with inexplicably horrible headaches, I feel you. And so, I offer you this:

Herbs and Headaches

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your head hadn’t even started hurting by the time you were mourning the loss of your day. You felt the familiar pressure wrapping it’s way around your head, temple to temple. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, really, you didn’t. Not after last time. One murmured word of your aching head and the band of heroes dropped everything -almost literally- so you would not travel for the day. So you were stuck with the dilemma. A) Say nothing and resign yourself to silence as you’re practically lobotomised. Or, B) Say something and risk being smothered. You were about to give in to the pain of your skull being pried open when a small detail slipped its way in. Rulie. He can heal, right? Granted he’d tried before and it hadn’t worked fully as you weren’t Hylian, but he could dull the pain lightly. You couldn’t really stop yourself from walking to his side, the pace of your stride matching with the throbbing pain of your headache.

“Rulie?” His eyes cast over to you, and eased smile finding his face as he does.

“y/n?” He matches the tone of your voice, mimicking your accent unfamiliar to Hyrule. The flush that overtook his cheeks spread up to his pointed ears. Faerie. You knew enough of them to know a few things, the most important of which being that they can’t lie, don’t give them your name (oops bit late for that) and to never make promises with them. A promise with the fae is more than a promise, it’s a bind. The words never to be broken, lest you wake the wrath of the others soul.

“Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell the others” With the faux innocence in your voice and saccharine tone you would’ve thought that he surely wouldn’t give in, or at least suspect you.

“Anything my flower, what’s up?” His eyebrows knitted in worry.

“No, you have to promise to not tell the others- please?” Your headache flared, causing you to wince.

“I promise. What’s wrong.” His voice deepens on instinct, seeing your pain. It was an… unfamiliar sight to see Hyrule so fiercely protective… but certainly not an unwelcome one.

“I have another headache” You kept your voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Honey… that’s it? Hylia above- I thought you’d been stabbed” He chuckles, the familiar lopsided grin that took his face was enough to make your heart swoon. He presses a small kiss to your temple, holding your hand as he hides his magic between your palms. The pain dulls, no longer sharp and stabbing. It doesn’t go away, but good company certainly helps. You absorb yourself in the surrounding scenery, finally able to live life without a headache.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hyrule’s pov:

He could’ve been more or less sleepwalking. The forest was quiet, the fields were empty, no one spoke, not even the wind as it blew through the trees. But it thankfully didn’t stay that way. A light tug on his tunic sleeve had him looking over his shoulder. His love beside him, gently holding onto his sleeve. They looked up at him, eyes dazed slightly.

“Rulie?” Goddesses themselves- he’s sure your voice would complete. Everything down to the way you from your words was so inherently beautiful to him.

“y/n” He savoured the way your name sounded, better than any song or ballad.

“Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell the others” They batted their lashes, face tensed in anticipation. Hyrule’s heart flutters like the faires he’d grown so accustomed to. His very reason for being -they’re could never be anything in his life that could outcompete you- not only wished to speak with him, bless him with their voice, but wished to trust him with something no other of the heroes could fix.

“Anything my flower, what’s up?”To him, you were a flower. Beautiful and fragile, sculpted by the muses themselves to strike inspiration and adoration after all you sought to surround yourself with. A treasure that with such proper care and love would bloom into something no mortal could ever achieve.

“No, you have to promise to not tell the others- please?” He paused at that, along with the way you winced slightly as you spoke. You double checked there was nothing that could’ve slipped past them, that nothing could’ve found it’s way to tainting you. The vary thought made him sick.

“I promise. What’s wrong.” Heroes be damned, If something hurt you, he’d see to it that it was delt with.

“I have another headache” you sheepishly admitted, voice quiet and fragile. Relief flooded him, that you were ok. Alive and well. He could deal with this. He was prepared for it, even. Afterall, Mirroot was so abundant in his universe. Helpful for gettin you to sleep on nights were your body wouldn’t agree. Helpful for calming nerves and soothing stresses. Helpful for easing sore muscles. Helpful for causing headaches.

“Honey… that’s it? Hylia above- I thought you’d been stabbed” He chuckled, pleased to know you were alright. He kissed your temple, knowing whatever pain might be there will be gone soon, threads his fingers in yours and enjoys your presence. Even if he had to pull strings to have you.

[adore-laur]

FOXTAIL

— two lovers being blissfully domestic while living in the countryside of france 🪴

——

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.

As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly helped grow, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.

He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.

"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.

In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"

He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.

"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."

She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.

Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.

"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"

"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."

Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars, all neatly arranged in a row.

"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.

Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."

"Why?"

"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"

Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.

When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature; just their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats fill the space.

"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.

Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."

What she doesn't know is that yesterday, while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.

Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"

"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."

She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"

"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."

"Of course, mon chéri."

Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"

——

"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door, completely nude.

Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.

Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."

"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let them float on the surface, and he also brought out some bars of natural soap that Nadine had handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.

Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.

"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.

Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or for me?"

She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."

"Translation, please."

"Scruffy," she whispers, like it's confidential.

A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "I thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.

"It's too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.

"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.

"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.

He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"

Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."

Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"

"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."

"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."

She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."

"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"

"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.

Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."

Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream to his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.

After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.

"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."

Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.

"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.

Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high… yet."

"You are. Know how I can tell?"

Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."

"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.

She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him putty in her hands.

Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."

——

The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.

The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.

"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.

"You were going on about"—she pauses for a moment to regain her breath—"your dream that you had last night."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I… what part did I leave off at?"

"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."

"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."

Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"

"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"

She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."

He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he speaks them.

"Snap peas, like bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.

Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."

"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.

He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."

"When what?"

"When you're ready for bébés."

He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three caught breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. A lot.

"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."

"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.

"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."

"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"

"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks—her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."

He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."

He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.

"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.

Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."

She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.

"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.

"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"

"Okay. Oui."

Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."

"Oui, oui, oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.

"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.

Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence, which she graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.

Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.

His goddess of love will soon be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.

——

[renegade-skywalker]

Let Me Count the Ways

Summary:

Days after Moonrise, Merit and Gale recount their first meeting, inevitably describing all the ways in which they love each other, Faerûn be damned. (Set post Act 2, pre-Act 3)

Word Count: 5,025 Rating: E

~~~

Her body ached one and all. 

Each of Merit’s limbs carried the weight of the centuries’ old ache they now left behind, the ruins of Moonrise fast becoming a distant memory. If they squinted, the shadow curse was lifting in their steady wake, the hills a touch less sunstarved even from their growing distance as they trudged onward to Baldur’s Gate. Merit was lighter for the sight of it, her heart far less heavy than it had been. But for reasons other than their most recent victory.

It was no wonder she was still wide awake, her limbs now blind to their own exhaustion, her very being a live wire as she finally retired for the evening after taking a much-needed dip in a nearby waterfall with the rest of their merry band. It was more than just the cool of the water and the decidedly viscera-less nature of her now-clean skin, smelling faintly of sweet mint since it was the only herb they could find on the road. The mint brightened her senses, yes, but it was being in Gale’s presence, alone again, much more so. 

“Believe it or not,” Gale gasped between kissing her, taking his time each moment their lips met, his hand weaving itself through her hair and pulling her towards him by the small of her back with the other. “I may actually need to breathe.”

Merit smiled against his mouth, not listening. 

“No you don’t,” she whispered into yet another kiss, relishing in the way his body arched towards hers, their limbs entwining above the thin sliver of bedroll beneath them. “Not yet anyway.”

As soon as Gale had clasped his tent shut, he and Merit were on each other, hands grasping, breathless, as they collapsed atop his unmade bedroll in the approaching night. And Merit had no intention of stopping just yet. Gale hummed into their next kiss, acquiescing to Merit’s insistent urge to keep her mouth on his. 

It was a weak argument, she knew, and one made with the express intention of simply saying something to break the otherwise breathful silence. With a careful hand, Gale angled her head just-so against his as he drank her in, more deeply this time and as if he may never let go. A pleasant chill coursed through her at his closeness and at his lip’s silent behest, affection mounting within Merit tenfold in a way that she almost didn’t know what to do with. She sighed in its shadow, whimpering against Gale’s mouth as she let the feeling wash over her - an overwhelming, all-encompassing warmth that made her shiver welcomingly, the feeling leaving her utterly breathless yet hungry for more. 

Gale sighed against her as he slowed the kiss, his hand burying itself more deeply in her hair as his lips unhurriedly met hers again and again, his every caress sweeter than the last, his tongue gently tracing Merit’s in a way that made her mouth water and her limbs magnetize even more-so to his, another whimper escaping unwittingly from the depths of her throat.

No one had ever kissed her like this, held her like this. The insurmountable need to be close to him, to feel him, to taste him, matched with her unfathomable affection for him was something Merit had never quite felt before either, her every moment with Gale both a blessing as much as it was a constant discovery, new layers of love emerging within her by the minute that each felt so utterly different from the last that she was amazed they didn’t each have their own unique names.

Gale slowed their kiss to an eventual halt, every moment of its deceleration saccharine and filled with endless want. He pulled away, his lips brushing against hers, his half-lidded eyes flickering down towards the plush of her mouth before eventually meeting Merit’s gaze, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“I already so often forget to breathe in your presence,” he admitted, his voice a half-whisper. The fingers on the hand he had buried in her hair absently raked at her scalp, his grazing gentle but yearning, wanting her closer somehow even though they were already pressed together. “But without you, I don’t think I could breathe at all.”

Merit felt Gale’s heart race in his chest as her hands braced the base of his shoulders, and in that moment she knew just where all of Gale’s poetry came from. Much like her own writing, his words tumbled off his tongue as if possessed, his very heart poetic and his mouth merely the messenger. She soaked in his expression, then, and the feeling of him against her, almost in disbelief that this man had any aspirations to whole-heartedly sacrifice himself only days prior, for the light that glittered within his gaze now shone bright and quiet eternal. She knew why he’d thought it necessary, and while his commitment had been commendable if not for the sake of all the realm as he was told, Merit was glad now for the rekindled craving for life that coursed through Gale now.

All she could do was kiss him once more. Close-mouthed at first, sighing, pressing him to her as if she never wanted them to part hence. Which was true. But when she kissed him again, soft and slow but starved and aching, Merit parted her lips against his and relished again in the feeling of his tongue against hers, the sensation of his hands traversing uncharted territory along her back beneath her nightshirt. Merit wanted to relive their night before Moonrise again and again, over and over, but with the assured knowledge that they would indeed see another day, as with every encroaching moment she rediscovered her love for him and basked in the warmth of its glow, still astounded that she could feel this way about anyone or anything. 

“Merit,” Gale sighed, making her blush all over at the sound of her name uttered so gently, her name the very breath that escaped his lungs. “Merit , I-”

She pulled away and gauged his expression. Merit’s gaze flickered between Gale’s eyes, wide and incredulous, and her heart sank a little.

“You still don’t believe it, do you?” Merit asked in a hallowed heartbroken whisper. That this was worth it? Merit thought wordlessly as she ran her own hand through Gale’s hair and held him close, her other hand tracing his face with practiced pause. Or that I truly love you?

Gale’s eyes flashed wide, momentary surprise coloring his face he sighed beneath her, sheepish. 

“I’m beginning to,” he uttered, pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth. “It isn’t quite that I didn’t or don’t believe you, I just-” Gale sucked in a breath. “I’m just… I’m not sure I deserve you.”

Merit stilled then. Unease shuddered through her at the thought. She held Gale closer then, calmed only by the sight of his gaze softening as she did so. 

“You know that’s not how any of this works,” she assured with another quick kiss, aching for him in a whole other way now. “Or at least, it doesn’t have to be. Not with me.”

A creeping realization settled over her as she watched Gale consider her words, pondering that a love without conditions might not only be something that in fact existed but something that was meant for him to have.

“I do think you’re an exceptionally talented wizard,” she said, her voice contemplative and soft as she traced the outline of his face with the gentle pad of her finger. “And you forget just how much you’ve done for me, for all of us , but… it’s not even about that either.”

Gale watched her silently, his gaze softening as his eyelashes fluttered in quiet awe. 

“Then tell me,” he implored, his voice whispersoft.

Merit looked upon him, the details of his silhouette falling into focus through the gloom of his tent, a moonlike glow emanating through the swath of cerulean canvas that faced the nearest campside torch. He lay beside her now, basking in the hushed reverence that followed his question as one of his hands remained comfortably buried in her hair, the other tracing a lazy pattern against the exposed small of her back. Merit savored the moment, testing its weight in her mind as she memorized its every detail, warmed even by the low chorus of crickets that beckoned nightfall - a comforting sound they had been void of every evening in shadow-cursed Reithwin.

“You were the first to make me laugh,” she admitted, the memory returning to her unbidden, and a small smile along with it. “Did you know that?”

The corner of Gale’s mouth fluttered, a bashful smile threatening to bewitch his otherwise reverential face.

“That first night at camp. But I’m sure I smiled when we first met, something I hadn’t done in some time even before our initial abduction. It was more than that, though, something as simple as the way you spoke, your choice of words. Something about you was just… so very endearing to me, immediately. I knew from the very moment you told me your name that I would come to like you, though I likely already had.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Gale was the first person Merit had grown comfortable around at camp, the first person she spoke of non-tadpole matters with, soon yearning for not just any kind of casual conversation but finding herself eager to speak with him specifically. About anything and everything, about nothing and all that lay between. It began as they jointly prepared the camp’s meals, calmed by the quiet comfort of assisting in something so mundane and necessary as cooking, something that no doubt reminded her of aiding Fable in the family bakery, but it soon grew into discussion at length about what books they found on the road, swapping stories of things they’d read in other books and longed to read again, and as soon as Merit found a playable lute, though it wasn’t her instrument of choice, it wasn’t long before their discussions turned to music, pleased to talk of her poetry with someone other than a rival bard trying to steal one of her songs.

“You were so very warm when you pulled me from that portal,” Gale admitted in a breathless whisper. “Your hand in mine. After not seeing, not touching, another living person in some time, it was a… a bit of an adjustment to say the least, traveling with you all.” Gale laughed breathily, chagrined but charmingly so. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, looking at you, waiting for your gaze to meet mine, for our hands to accidentally touch again to perhaps test whether I’d imagined it. At first I thought it was simply the shock of it all, but…”

He didn’t need to finish his thought for Merit to understand. Gale leaned against her, resting his forehead against hers as his ardent gaze grew brighter in the clearing gloom, the tent now glowing a dark but cool blue, like the sea after a storm. 

“Perhaps it was selfish of me,” he said again, his voice barely a whisper as he brought one of Merit’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the soft cushion of her palm and letting his mouth linger before continuing. “Selfish to submit to the wealth of what I feel for you beneath Moonrise in dismissal of Mystra’s charge, but it also feels like… some solemn sense of poetic justice.”

Merit’s brows knotted, an inkling of confusion coloring the otherwise warm ease she felt in Gale’s presence now. 

“My tower had been empty for months,” he began, his expression sombering at the retelling of it. “Tara was gone for longer and longer, and upon each of her many returns my guilt grew tenfold. Not only had I not spoken to or seen my mother since I was accursed with my affliction, who’d left the only life she knew behind to bring a son bursting at the seams with magic to Waterdeep decades before, it pained me to see Tara run herself ragged to bring my mother messages of my being still alive, to see Tara wrack herself in search of such things to keep my sin sated, the worry in her eyes…”

Gale’s own eyes dimmed as he retreated further into the darker depths of the memory. Merit cupped his face, turning his attention to the here and now as Gale’s expression fluttered between mournful reverie in recollection and calm reassurance at her touch.

“She’d begged for me to leave the tower, if only to reacquaint myself with fresh air but perhaps better yet to provide a much needed distraction from my otherwise bleak reality only made worse by the machinations of my own mind. Tara had just left in search of something else for me when I finally took her advice, only I didn’t relish in the air or any of earth’s smaller pleasures. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving, though, who would I tell?”

Gale let out a hollow half-laugh. No mirth laced the action, only a sobering and melancholic amusement that spoke more to loss than laughter. 

“I don’t think I would have done it, then,” he continued, skipping ahead a bit as he took in the severity of Merit’s expression as she listened on. “But… I’d thought about it. Really considered it, ending my life. Saving everyone the trouble. Ending it all there, saving my mother from regretting her decision to upend her life, saving Tara the endless worry of caring for me, ridding myself of the unending guilt. I went deep into the nearest forest, in search of - well, what exactly I’m not entirely sure. A passage to the Underdark perhaps, or an already ruined landscape that wouldn’t suffer any further loss at my inevitable self-destruction.”

Merit had no words, only a soft but unquenchable need to touch him, to remind herself that he was here now, that Gale was warm and full of want for her and life itself. She continued to trace his jaw with the back of her finger, awaiting his continuation even if it hurt to hear the words.

“But before I knew it, I was knocked unconscious and aboard that bloody ship,” he said, incredulous, “And not long after that, you were pulling me from that stone.”

“Shadowheart warned me against approaching that portal, y’know,” Merit contemplated aloud, her voice catching at the thought. “I’m so very glad I didn’t listen.”

“As am I,” Gale said. “Endlessly, so.”

He turned slightly against her caressing hand and placed kiss after gentle kiss against her fluttering fingers.

“To be pulled from the portal was a surprise to be sure, but to fall so desperately in love with the person who did it?” He kissed her palm again, lingering there before continuing, “It was a gift, at first, even before I knew it wasn’t unrequited. But when Elminster informed me of Mystra’s intentions, it felt more like a-”

Gale couldn’t say the words, emotion stilling his words like a cork in a wine bottle. His eyes went wide, wistful yet crestfallen as his other hand pulled her closer until they were utterly pressed together, their shared warmth intermingling to the point where they almost felt as one.

“Like a punishment,” Merit said for him, heartbroken when Gale nodded almost immediately upon her uttering the words.

Unsure of what else to say, Merit lightly brushed what short stray locks of hair fell into Gale’s eyeline as they lay facing one another, admiring the way they draped over his forehead, giving something soothing for her hands to do, an easy excuse to touch him. She remembered the first time she thought of doing such a thing - the night he beckoned her to open herself to the Weave alongside him, his face limned in the glitter of the Weave and the glint of moonlight, smiling softly at her in a way Merit wasn’t sure anyone ever had before. 

“I love the gray in your hair, and the way it sometimes falls into your eyes,” she said almost absently, her eyes drawn to Gale’s silvery strands as her fingers continued to caress his temple, relishing as he leaned into her touch. “I love the way your scar dimples when you smile, the birthmark on your temple, and the one on your wrist-”

Merit reached down, plucking Gale’s idly caressing hand to press her palm to his after gently circling the birthmark in question, adoring the way Gale shivered pleasantly at her insistent touch before quietly admiring the way the cool olive of his skin looked against the warmth of her copper tone. 

It was the hand she’d pulled from the portal, as if miming their first meeting. He’d looked so handsome then if not a bit bewildered, not so unlike the way he looked now but softer. But touching him, being this close, admiring his every feature - it was more than just finding comfort in the physical. It was seeing him just as he was, letting him know that she saw every bit of him, not asking that any of it be altered, that he was simply loved for who he already was. 

“I love the shape of your hands,” she added softly, threading her fingers through his. “And the way they feel in mine.”

Gale brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of Merit’s wrist.

“I never knew,” he said with an awestruck breath, watching her longingly, “That love could feel like this. And it pains me to think that I might have never known, without you.”

Merit stilled under the strength of his lovelorn gaze, struck both by his words as well as by the same realization, the weight of it resonating within her and washing over her in waves. 

“There are so very many things I love about you, the list endless as I’ve already regaled,” Gale continued, his thumb running gently across the back of her hand as he kissed the same spot on her wrist again. “Your quick mind, your clever tongue, the lilt of your voice whether singing or speaking, perfectly imperfect, the warm amber of your eyes, the way you-”

Gale paused, laughing breathily again as he blushed, an undeniable desire to live and keep on living shining in his eyes. 

“The soft way you look at me, the velvet warmth of your lips against mine, the way you sigh whenever our mouths do meet,” he said even more softly, “The way it feels to kiss you, the way my hands yearn to touch every part of you, the way you feel against me, how warm your skin feels on mine.”

It was half-confession, half-request, the plea clear in the way Gale looked longingly at her now in silent submission - Consider me a supplicant praying at the altar of every inch of you. 

Merit’s breath caught in her throat as the notion wordlessly registered in her mind and she matched his gaze, their eyes tender though hungry as they looked upon the other. It only took a moment for Merit to dissolve under the endless ache in his stare and bring Gale’s mouth back towards hers, their hands unclasping only to get lost once more in each other’s hair. 

Much like the vision she’d first conjured in the Weave, the kiss started off slow, their every move a deliberate dance as she reveled in the taste of him. Gale’s hands moved from her hair and trailed lightly down her back, his hands grasping at the fabric of her nightshirt as he gently but insistently endorsed its eventual removal. Merit shrugged as she obliged, her shoulders going slack as she allowed him this before her own hands descended to the hem of Gale’s shirt and urged it off in a single lithe movement, running her hands slowly over the planes of his chest as she moved the cloth up, up, up and off. 

“I want to give you the stars,” he whispered into his kiss, making Merit blush all over. “But I also want to feel every earthly pleasure with you.”

Gale didn’t allow Merit time to answer, stealing the very breath from her lungs as he wrapped her in another all-eclipsing kiss. He was delightfully warm, but different in the sense most other things were warm. It was almost like touching a sunsoaked stone, the feel of it instantly reaching her bones and some other deeper, more primal part of her she had no name for. As soon as she felt it, the more she craved Gale’s inherent closeness, needing more of it, unsure if the feeling could ever truly be sated. How they managed to thieve so few kisses whilst the Netherese orb remained active, Merit had no idea, her need for Gale forever growing and bordering on insatiable.

It wasn’t long before their every measured kiss grew ravenous, their every shared breath a yearning whimper as Gale brought his hips to hers before urging her leg around his waist, his hand tracing the curve of her thigh as he held her close. 

A pleasurable gasp escaped from the depths of her throat as Gale’s kiss grew deeper, his touch voracious as his hands roamed every inch of her, alternating between gently tracing the shape of her or zealously grasping at whatever part of her he could get his hands on. Merit’s hands snaked up his neck, her fingers threading through his hair while her palms cradled his jaw, her thumbs gently tracing the hollow of his face as he kissed her more ardently still. She rocked her hips against his, pleased to feel the warmth of his growing want against her in an instant, immediately hungering to be closer to him, to feel him.

Merit didn’t need to say a thing. She thought of saying something - about what she wanted, about what she yearned for. Merit even considered requesting that Gale spirit them both back to the Weave, her desires supplanting the mere borders of her own body in the instant her want grew precariously into need. 

But with a breathless whimper, Merit surrendered as Gale removed the remainder of her clothes and his, pressing the strength of his desire against her thigh as he asked, even more harrowed than the last time, “How am I expected to keep my hands off you?” he uttered as his hands spirited over the entire shape of her, lingering over the rising crest of her breasts and the sloping curve of her thighs. “What if I want to be inside you all the time?”

Another unbidden sigh escaped Merit’s mouth then, this time in unison with the moment she reached for Gale and felt the warmth of his want against the reaching palm of her hand. She tasted the wonder in his very kiss as she did, overcome with earthly wants and earthly desires, something he’d dismissed long before meeting her but now yearned to feel in full. All Merit could think of was how eagerly she wanted to grant his every wish, guiding the strength of his desire towards the wealth of her own until he finally eased himself inside her.

“I love the way you feel,” she sighed against Gale’s panting mouth as he slowly, sensuously rocked his hips against hers, relishing in every inch of her and savored the sensation as if it were both the first and last time they might ever make love. Merit wanted it to continue like this, steady, unrushed yet indulgent, every thrust laced with unending sentiment with the intention of the feeling lasting forever.

The bedroll didn’t afford them much room, but it didn’t matter. All Merit needed was to be close to Gale, feeling the relief of him inside her as she pressed her palms against the warm planes of his back, her fingernails digging ever so slightly into his already sweatslick skin. Their shared heat was sweet, Merit savoring the salt of his sweat as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder just as Gale began to kiss her neck, his hands pulling her closer and closer, angling her against him in a way that made her tremble, her every limb bewitched with a certain sensuous rapture that eclipsed all other pleasures she’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t just the act of it, their bodies acting on primal impulse and feeding on primordial need, but the very deep-seated sentiment of it, the abundance of affection that flooded her whenever she merely even thought of Gale let alone whenever she was in his presence. 

Gale pressed kiss after ardent kiss up the slope of her neck, kissing her jaw and then her temple before burying his face in hair as he uttered so sincerely that Merit shivered, “I love you,” he said, panting sweetly into her ear before nuzzling his nose against her neck. “I’ll always love you.”

It was so simple. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t said it before, though not quite like this. Merit urged Gale’s face back toward hers as he continued to urge his keening need deeply, slowly inside her and kissed him equally delicately, unlike any time she’d ever kissed anyone, even Gale, before. Pouring every ounce of emotion into her very breath, the way her lips met his wanting mouth, and in the careful caress of her tongue against his, Merit returned the sentiment in duplicate, their bodies in rhythm together in the dark of another night she wished might never end.

“I love you,” she said into a famished kiss, echoing the notion before she pulled away with a harrowed sigh, gasping for breath as Gale continued to ease his want into hers. “And I want to feel everything with you.”

She hearkened back to what he’d said earlier, Gale’s pace slowing to a sultry pulse still poised deep inside the wet and velvet center of her in response, his eyes heavy-lidded as his gaze met hers, worlds of affection flowing between them in the quiet aftermath. 

“How do you even exist?” he asked, incredulous, his eyes searching hers. “How are you even real?”

Merit watched him wordlessly, demure but thunderstruck at his confession, unsure how to answer as her heart fluttered more ardently than she thought it ever could. Gale slowed again but he did not stop, his every movement tender and deliberate but sumptuously so, careful to convey the very weight of his love for her in the way he urged himself inside her, the way he held her, the way he looked at her, and in the very way he panted against her, hungry for more of her but overwhelmed with such endless endearment that all he could do was watch her with a ceaseless yet quiet wonder.

“I’m only as real as you make me,” she exhaled, thinking back to what he said to her in the meadow he conjured before Moonrise - I’m no goddess, she’d said. Oh yes you are, he’d countered - gripping him closer to her and kissing his shoulder again. “As real as the salt on your skin or the heat of the blood running your veins. As real as everything I feel for you.”

Merit wrote about myths, but she refused to be one. Here, now, she was just a woman in love, and Gale would simply have to believe that.

“You deserve so much more,” Gale said, threading one hand through her hair again as he angled himself more deeply inside her, another whimper escaping Merit’s throat at the feeling. “I want to give you the world.”

Merit could only smile breathlessly against him, on the verge of succumbing to the very lovedrunk ecstasy of the feeling of him against her, inside her, his words encroaching on her very heart. Her mind, body, and soul were all strings suddenly singing in unison, their rising chorus reaching an inevitable epiphany. 

“All I need is you, Gale,” Merit said as her entire body began to shudder on the approach of utter euphoria. “All I need is you.”

She wasn’t sure he was listening, and in the moment the idea was driven so far from her mind that all she could think of was the complete surrender overcoming her now in the wake of him, lapping at her every nerve in delicious waves as her every limb trembled in kind, Gale’s breath quickening as the feel of him grew more insistent, hungering to feel more of her as she tightened around him. Gale’s pace remained methodic, rhythmic, but in the steady aftermath of her waning elation she felt him soon flutter, too, his every thrust losing fervor until he grew soft, only pulling out because he had to.

Gale sighed, feigning complete collapse against Merit’s chest as he smiled, eventually pressing breathless elated kisses against her expectant lips before pulling her to him again and kissing her even more deeply.

This sort of thing didn’t happen often, simultaneous satiation, at least not in Merit’s past experience, the satisfaction of it still washing over her as Gale kissed her still.

When he finally pulled away, Gale buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as his lips absently brushed the sensitive swath of skin just beneath her ear. Merit’s fingers ran through Gale’s own hair as she clutched him to her, relishing in the warmth of him as she opened her eyes to the ethereal glow of the tent again, finding calm in the chorus of crickets once more. 

She kissed his hair and muttered, “All I’ll ever need is you,” her voice soft, more than a whisper but just as faint. But Gale was already succumbing to sleep against her, his ears unhearing as Merit sighed and instead pressed a kiss to his now-slumbering forehead, stilling there with her lips poised against the pleasant warmth of his skin, relishing in the scent of him and the weight of his body against hers, before relenting to sleep in kind.

“Just you,” she said with a sigh, finally falling asleep against him. “Just you.”

[ellivenollivander]

Hi, can I request a cutesy fluffy sweet fic where MC and Leander recently moved in together and it's his birthday, and MC gets him a pet because she knows he always wanted one?

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sending me a Leander fic request, and one so adorable. I had a lot of fun writing this one, and my favorite boy absolutely finally deserves a pet. Side note: I originally read this ask when it was first sent to me and uhhh started writing before rereading it. So, Leander did get a surprise pet... But I forgot the birthday part, lol. I'm so sorry. I hope you love it regardless :) Rating: 18+ (Insinuations, as per usual) Word Count: 4,636 Warnings: Aged Up Characters (Takes place the summer after they graduate Hogwarts.)

A Suitable Home

“You’re deranged! Three galleons for hemlock?” 

MC’s voice was shrill, and knew that her tone was positively unnecessary as she spoke to the disgruntled apothecary clerk. In her feeble defense, it had been a long week, and an even longer month. Between Auror training, settling into the new home that she now shared with her long-term boyfriend, and having spent the morning on the brink of death from a doxy bite, her nerves were being run dangerously thin. 

She desperately wished to be back in the comfort and privacy of her own home, in bed with her equally exhausted boyfriend. As she stood and listened to the clerk's explanation of how his usual herb vendor had been called overseas to deal with a family emergency, he had to seek inventory elsewhere and no longer had the fixed rates of his vendor agreement. 

MC heaved a heavy sigh, miserably missing the Hogwarts greenhouses, and dropped the coins onto the table with a saccharine smile as she turned to leave. 

When she stepped out into the sunshine of Diagon Alley, the jar of herbs tucked safely into her satchel, She let herself take a deep breath and relax. Deciding to take her time meandering down the cobblestone streets on her way back home. 

The alley was quite nearly empty, at midday on a weekday, and MC had only a few blissful moments to enjoy the quiet summer day when the relaxation soon faded, as her mind drifted back to her dreadfully eventful morning. 

It had started pleasantly enough, her eyes fluttering open to the feeling of Leander tugging her close, his hands and mouth searching for the sort of intimacy they were quickly becoming quite fond of  in their newfound freedom of young adulthood. 

Though that had lasted mere seconds, no sooner had he slipped the chemise from her body when she had let out a yelp of surprise, from a sharp stinging pain on the exposed skin of her thigh. Leander had been quick to action, tossing back the patchwork quilt just in time to catch a glimpse of the minute form of a doxy, flitting away from the fabric.

He had managed to stun it, before it had reached its nest in the curtains of their yet to be utilized spare room. The venom had worked quickly, leaving MC pale and gasping for air in their shared bed with her throat swelling shut. Despite the relentless teasing MC gave her boyfriend for his penchant for preparedness, she had been grateful for it in the moment when he slipped from the bed to fetch her a readied antidote from his potions cabinet.  When her breathing returned to normal, with her airway cleared she had relaxed back into the bed, tilting her head to face Leander who had been resting his own head on his elbow, eyeing her carefully. She gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile. 

“Sort of killed the mood, huh?” 

Leander had grumbled his agreement with a small smile, and a quick kiss to her lips before he removed himself from the bed once more, with an extended hand to his girlfriend. 

“Least you’re not dead. Now come on, if there’s one, there’s many. We’ve got to clear them out.” 

Her groans of reluctance had fallen on unsympathetic ears, and she was hauled from the bed, clothes thrust into her arms. 

MC had found this little house, just outside of London, advertised in The Daily Prophet. She had thought she and Leander had struck gold, it had been ideal for their situation. Close to the ministry, within their budget and not a flat above a busy shop in Diagon Alley. All of their boxes had been ticked.  Leander had wanted to wait, see it in person, and ask questions. MC had convinced him they had to jump at the opportunity, or risk losing it entirely. She regretted that particularly convincing conversation the minute they had opened the front gate that very first time, a week after graduating from Hogwarts. Her mind immediately recollecting the fine print beneath the advertisement. Could use a bit of work.

A dreadful understatement.

The unkept garden had been overrun with gnomes, the house had been filled with dilapidated furniture covered in dust and cobwebs, and it had taken them little time to discover the infestation of bundimuns in the floorboards. 

MC had apologized countless times since that moment, when the couple had to spend most of their free time and limited income on making their new home, well, livable. Though Leander had always been gracious and kind, never bitter, assuring her that it was alright. 

She had apologized again, as they stood in the dusty spare room that morning, listening to the telling buzz of doxies in the curtains, her heart still pounding from her brush with death. 

Leander had let out a puff of air, his eyes closing in frustration for just a moment before he had slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close and grazing his lips against her temple. The contact steadying her racing heart. 

“S’Alright, MC. Just have to brew up some doxycide.”

Despite his seemingly calm demeanor, MC knew her boyfriend wasn’t thrilled about having to brew yet another concoction to fix yet another problem in the home she had convinced him to sign a lease for, before he could even brew his morning tea. She didn’t deserve his calm and collected forgiveness, and he didn’t deserve to have to live in and fix a home that seemed to be causing more problems than it was worth, because of her lack of patience. 

His resolve had snapped a bit, when he realized his potions cupboard was empty of Hemlock, a necessary ingredient in the brew for doxycide, slamming the cupboard doors closed, his eyes once again, shut tight in frustration. MC had characteristically jumped at the opportunity to head into Diagon Alley to fetch it for him, a small apologetic offering. 

Now, she had been so lost in her guilt-ridden recollection of their morning that she nearly tripped over a puffskein that had bounced its way into her path. She barely had time to apologize to the fluffy, curious little thing before it had been lifted into the air, and pulled back towards the shop MC found herself in front of.

The kindly shopkeeper of the Magical Menagerie called out an apology for the creature’s antics, and MC waved him off, taking a few steps closer to the shop. The man was attempting to wrangle the puffskein back into a large cage that seemed to be terribly full of the brightly colored beasts, narrowly dodging its tongue as he worked. 

“No harm done… That’s quite the poffle you got.” She gave him a genuine smile as she bent down to take a closer look at the cage full of fur, the soft sounds of their happy hums keeping the smile on her own face and dissipating the foul mood she was in. “Do you often carry so many at a time?” She questioned the shopkeeper, trying to remember the other, many moments she had spent in and around Mr. Dovetails shop. 

Mr. Dovetail cleared his throat, clarifying the reason his inventory of puffskeins was so large, and MC listened intently, her hand slipping through the bars of the cage to caress the soft fur of the same rowdy puffskein that had attempted to trip her up moments before.

“Most of them were surrendered to me by some young lad whose mother had apparently been keeping a hoard of the beasts in her flat, he didn’t know what else to do with them. Felt a bit bad for the kid so I took them off his hands, trying to find them a more suitable home now.” 

MC hummed thoughtfully, her fingers still wrapped in the fur of the puffskein. A thought already forming in her brain, memories of she and Leander spending most of their free time at school in the paddocks of the beasts classroom bringing a wider smile to her face. 

“Well, that was kind of you, Mr. Dovetail. Do you think you will? Find suitable homes for them all?” 

She tilted her head back up to properly address the man standing above her, who was wiping his hands with a rag, a bowl of beast feed being filled on its own in the air just behind his head. She rested her free hand against her brow, shielding herself from the summer sun. 

“Hope to. It’s a bad time of year for puffskeins. Children are heading off to Hogwarts, parents don’t want to be responsible for their pet whilst they’re away. Hoping by putting them on sale it will coax them into spending the coin.”

The thought of the creature being on sale only encourages the train of thought MC was already headed down, having lost count long ago how many times Leander had told her how desperately he wanted a pet of his own. When he would let a kneazle crawl into his lap as he sat in the dirt of their paddock, his hand stroking its back, or how he had told her that he once found a puffskein when he was a child, and his mum would not let him keep it. 

MC chews her bottom lip, before making the decision herself, standing and facing Mr. Dovetail. Her fingers popping open her coin purse with a smile.

“How much?” 

~*~

Once home, MC managed to safely and secretly deposit the puffskein into the garden shed, planning to keep it there until she was ready to reveal the newest member of her and Leanders little family once the doxy situation had been taken care of. Before she had shut the door, she smiled softly as the spherical beast immediately occupied itself with the plethora of spiders that had made the shed their home. 

It was taking all of MC’s resolve to not spill the secret that currently resided in their garden shed. She had almost let it slip, when she could not wipe the seemingly maniacal grin from her face as they had sprayed the doxycide onto the pests in their curtains. 

Leander had quirked a concerned eyebrow at her, badgering her with questions and accusations about the level of pleasure she was taking in ridding their home of the unwelcome visitors. She had managed to shake it off, explaining it away with how happy her tentaculas would be with the feast that would be bestowed upon them when they were finished. 

Now, with the situation taken care of and they finished sweeping up the remnants of their infestation into a large compost bin she could barely contain it. Her eyes wandering out the window and to the shed, hoping the puffskein that had managed to escape its holding once, to try and trip her up, wouldn’t be able to do so again. 

“Suppose it would be a bit improper to have a drink at this hour on a Tuesday, hm?” His voice was tight, as Leander stretched out his body, shaking away the stress of their day thus far, thankfully oblivious to MC’s gaze. When his head fell back into an upright position, from where he had been stretching out his neck, his gaze fell onto MC, his own mischievous grin appearing on his face. He pulled her close, to whisper seductively into her ear. “Or… we could finish what we started this morning…” 

He trailed off, moving his lips to her neck, finding that sensitive spot that made her weak in the knees. It took all of her resolve to fight the heat coiling inside, and she let out a soft and involuntary whimper, at his hands squeezing her waist, his fingers sliding against the bare skin beneath her shirt. 

MC thought quickly of an excuse, a brush with death would justify a decreased libido, surely. When she voiced it, her boyfriend chuckled softly in her ear, his lips pressing one last kiss to her shoulder before he straightened himself up, having had to bend over to nuzzle into her neck properly. 

“Oh…Yes, that. Can’t believe you went and tried dying on me. Leaving me to live in this shithole all alone.” She scoffed, playfully, shoving his chest while he continued to laugh at her near demise. “You should be grateful you have such an intelligent boyfriend who is so quick to act.” He continued to tease her, bringing up his years of experience in keeping his reckless and impulsive girlfriend alive. 

She was just as quick to defend herself with the fact that this time was not at all her fault, and she was indeed a victim to the pest that had invaded their bed. MC lost her train of thought in their playful banter, and she barely noticed when Leander picked up the compost bin and began to head for the back door to bring it back out to the garden shed.

MC nearly toppled over as she scrambled to stop him from continuing outdoors, she grabbed the compost bin from his hands, ignoring the confusion crossing his face, trying to explain it away with her desire to be helpful. 

“You brewed the doxycide, just let me take care of this.” She barely made it a step before he was pulling her back inside, his arm reaching around her to pull the back door closed again. When she turned back around to question him, he was standing with his arms crossed, staring at her with eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Alright, tell me what you’re hiding.” 

MC sputtered, her hands still wrapped around the handles of the compost bin searching for words, an explanation. She should have known her annoyingly perceptive boyfriend would catch on to her behavior, he knew her too well, and was the only person in the world who could read her tiniest of cues. He was mildly amused by her awkward attempts to deny that she was hiding something. When nothing coherent ever came of her useless sputtering, he quirked an eyebrow in expectation.

“Come on, out with it. Did you blow something up? Kill off my cabbages?” 

She rolled her eyes, and conceded to his interrogation, her shoulders slumping as she set the compost bin down on the floor with a heavy sigh. “You’re real annoying, you know that? Impossible to get anything past you, Prewett.”

Leander chuckled again at the defeated tone of her disgruntlement, poking her shoulder gently to coax her into talking, into revealing what she was hiding. MC wouldn’t cave so easily, and she poked him back. 

“Maybe it’s none of your business.” 

“Clearly it is my business, as there is obviously something in the garden shed you don’t want me seeing. You practically knocked yourself over trying to stop me from heading out to it.” Leander returned her eye roll, his grin faltering just a bit when she didn’t cave. He let his arms fall from where he still had them crossed against his chest. He curled his hands over her shoulders, trying to get her to look at him, attempting to get a read on her. “Come on, MC. You’re killing me here. How bad is it? Just another run of the mill inconvenience that seems to be our lives or write to my parents begging for galleons?”

MC felt a bit guilty that her behavior in trying to keep his surprise, a surprise had triggered her boyfriend's anxiety. She pulls his hands from her shoulders to take them in her own, exhaling softly and giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

“Perhaps one day a minor inconvenience, but it’s a surprise. A happy one, I hope.” 

Leanders face seems to relax a bit, trusting the look of sincerity in his girlfriend's eyes, before furrowing in confusion once more. 

“Alright… Well, what is it? Are you going to tell me now? Or show me?” 

MC brightens considerably, feeling much lighter now that she doesn’t have to dampen her own excitement. She gives him a wide smile before pushing him towards their small living room, giggles following him all the way. 

“Go, I’ll bring it to you. But no peeking, or I’ll return it. Don’t test me.” 

Leander does as he’s told with a laugh, unable to help the excitement growing in his chest, wondering what the surprise could possibly be after a day like today, after the month that they have had. Curiously considering when she could have possibly found the time to come up with a surprise just for him. He sits himself on the couch, and when MC doesn’t move from the room, and instead is still staring down at him expectantly, he groans. “Oh, Come on. Really? I have to close my eyes?” She giggles, nodding excitedly as she stands in the archway that separates the living room from the rest of the house. Leander obeys, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face into his hands. MC takes a moment to confirm he is doing as he’s told before making her way back to the backdoor of the garden, laughing when she hears the muffled sound of her boyfriend's voice, letting her know that she’s lucky she’s adorable. 

Collecting the puffskein from the garden shed proved to be less easy than expected. The little thing apparently had its fill of the spiders in the shed, and was now snoozing away in a pile of burlap sacks in a warm patch of sunlight. MC found the sight heartachingly sweet, and half considered leaving it to its nap. She decided on a compromise, and wrapped the sleeping creature in one of the sacks, being exceedingly careful to not wake it. 

As she crossed the garden, back towards the house to reveal the little bundle to her boyfriend, She found herself unable to resist resting her face into its soft, warm fur, its sleepy sounds a sort of siren, calling her forth to give it a good cuddle. 

MC paused in the doorway before moving further into the house, calling out to ensure her boyfriend was keeping his eyes dutifully shut tight. When he confirmed that he was being a good boy, MC laughed out loud, the sound and the shaking of her chest causing the puffskein in her arms to stir. She whispered a quick apology, before rounding the corner and back into the living room to stand in front of Leander, who was indeed still holding his hands over his eyes. 

“Alright, hold out your arms, but don’t open your eyes yet.” 

The curiosity and excitement he felt about the surprise overrode Leanders desire to tease his girlfriend, and he held out his arms. His mind was completely empty of any conceivable notion of what it could be that MC was being so incredibly secretive about. MC watched as his face fell into confusion at the weight of the bundle placed in his arms, and she had to resist the urge to bend down and kiss the wrinkles forming between his brows. 

Just as she was about to give him the all clear to open his eyes, the spherical bundle of fur and burlap came to life, the puffskein immediately freeing itself from the fabric it had been wrapped in. Leanders eyes shot open at the motion, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight before him. A puffskein, bouncing around his legs.

It had taken a moment for the puffskein and Leander to really take notice of one another, one of them being in a state of shock at the ball of fur in his home and the other very curious about its new surroundings. MC watched as Leanders mouth opened and closed, his gaze not leaving the creature whilst it bounced around the small room. 

“What… How did you… Is it… ours?” 

MC stood still, beaming down at her boyfriend before giving him a happy nod of confirmation.  “Got it, well her, for you mostly.” She paused, recalling Mr. Dovetails report on the puffskein. Young, less than two years old, and female. She continued on, her voice still soft and a bit nervous that her boyfriend may be upset at the prospect of the added responsibility a pet would put on their lives. “As a sort of thank you… and an apology for putting up with me and this damn house that seems to have a new problem every time we turn around.”  

Leander swallowed, his throat thick with emotion as he slid from the couch and to his knees on the floor. His voice soft and strained as he coaxed the puffskein closer to him. The fluffy beast paused its bouncing on the ratty old armchair that the couple had managed to salvage in the house, to stare at Leander as the wizard tried to draw its attention to him and his open arms. 

MC had another moment of panic, thinking it would have been just her luck to bring home a puffskein that would hate the man she had brought it home for. The fear dissipated as quickly as it came, when it launched itself from the armchair and bounced happily right into Leanders waiting embrace. Her heart stopped once more, ready to burst when the love of her life immediately buried his face into the fur of his new pet. 

She let the two of them have their first moments together, watching as the puffskein didn’t seem to mind what looked to be a crushing hug from her new master. A minute passed, and MC was about ready to interrupt the precious moment happening before her, when she noticed her boyfriend's trembling shoulders. 

Just as MC began to speak, she lost all coherent thoughts on what she could possibly say. Absolutely dreading interrupting the scene before her. It was clear to her that her boyfriend was crying, and it was something she had experienced so few times before, being one of the few who had ever even been witness to his tough exterior crumbling. It had left her reeling each time, unprepared and without a thought on how to traverse the situation, and this moment was no different. 

She steeled herself, fighting the swell of emotion growing inside of her at the visceral reaction of her partner, from her impulsive gift. She cleared her throat, and took a deep breath. 

“Lee… I…” She lost it as soon as it came, but it had been enough to tear Leanders attention away from the beast in his arms. His face was red and teary eyed as he tilted it back up to meet her gaze. He stood quickly, being careful to not toss his puffskein and wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off the ground and burying his face into her neck, now wet with his tears.

“Thank you. Thank you, I know I…I just… I have wanted this for so long. You have no ide-... You have no idea how long I have wanted this. A pet, a companion of my own. I love you.” 

MC didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck, holding him just as tight as he held her, locked in an embrace as their newest family member bounced around their legs. She could feel tears of her own pricking her eyes, at Leanders words and his contagious emotion.  When they finally pulled themselves from one another, she held his face in her hands, wiping the few stray tears still running down his face with a gentle caress of her thumbs, still standing on her tiptoes. 

“So, you’re happy? These are happy tears, yes?” 

Leander sniffed, rolling his wet eyes before wiping them with the back of his sleeve and kissing her forehead.

“Merlin, yes, of course, MC. I am incredibly happy, and absolutely stunned. Thank you.” 

His lips found hers, his hands tangling themselves into her hair. It lasted only a moment before his attention was drawn right back to his pet, still bouncing excitedly around where the couple stood in the center of their living room.

MC stepped back as Leander scooped her up and back into his arms, burying his face right back into her, now quite damp, fur. MC stroked whatever fur she could reach around her boyfriend's head, a smile growing on her face as she absorbed the moment of the three of them standing together, her heart threatening to flutter right out of her chest.

“Any name ideas for the little lass?” 

Leander pulled his head back, but continued resting his chin on the furball in his arms, as he hummed thoughtfully, before a sheepish grin crept onto his now flushed face.

“Well… I may have a few thoughts… I’ve sort of… had a list of pet names.. For a while.” MC giggled softly, kindly as she continued petting the puffskein, she gave Leander an expectant look, curious to know which name of his undoubtedly long list of names he believed suited their little puffball the best. 

“Um… How about, Mimsy?” 

MC beamed at the name, cooing it softly to the officially named creature, who showed her approval by swiping her tongue at her face, causing MC to squeal in surprise, jumping back to hold a protective hand over her nose. Leander chuckled at the interaction, pressing a kiss to Mimsy’s head, before repeating the affection to MC’s nose. 

MC rolled her eyes as her boyfriend immediately went back to snuggling Mimsy.

“I see how it’s going to work from now on. I’m second rate to your damn furball now, huh?” 

Leander gave her a mischievous grin, from where his chin lay on the happily humming Mimsy.

“Least you know it.” 

~*~ 

It had not taken long to settle into a new routine of a family of three, the excitement of having the bouncing Mimsy a welcome joy to their once sad and stressful home. 

Mimsy had taken to following Leander everywhere and the tall and gangly man was remarkably quick at adjusting his gait to accommodate the new puffskein underfoot. The attachment the beast had to the man was bordering on unhealthy, the couple having to take things so far as to having to leave the house separately in the mornings to avoid an escapee desperate to follow her master. MC would have to distract Mimsy with her favorite treat, muggle dog biscuits, while Leander slipped out the back door. 

They were both grateful for the added pest control, Mimsy being all too happy to rid their home of spiders and any other creepy crawly thing that dared enter their old house. Leander no longer had to hear his girlfriend's dramatic cries for assistance when a millipede found its way across her toes while she was cooking dinner. 

Their intimate moments were often interrupted by the sudden appearance of the ball of fur on their bed, and Leander would have to reluctantly extricate himself from his lover's body to toss the puffskein back out into the hall, on the other side of their now locked bedroom door. Of course, Leander would not hear of simply locking the door every night before bed, the wizard already much too attached to the second pillow Mimsy now offered him. 

Overall, Leander had been the happiest he had ever been with his added companion, who loved him just as much as MC; Who despite her complaints about the fur and the hassle and the dramatic claims of lack of attention she now received from her boyfriend…He would often find her curled up with Mimsy, talking to the puffskein like a small child. 

Now, everything felt right and good in their little house that would probably forever need more work, and the couple finally felt like they were settling into their new life in love, having found their missing piece. 

[moonpetrichors-blog]

What Do The Sully Family Smell Like?

Tags: Headcanons, Sully Family Scents

Warnings: None

Characters: Jake, Neytiri, Kiri, Lo’ak, Neteyam

Signature scents of the Sully family/what I think they’re attributed with.

I thought it’d be kinda fun to write like unique scents they have and while this isn’t an x reader, it’d be kinda funny in a diff setting if idfk reader is like “neteyam do u use strawberry scented shampoo😲” or some shit LMAOAOA

* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut  

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [11/12/22] ❞    

Jake Sully

Jake smells like Cinnamon.

For a spicy man, he gets a spicy scent fr

Nah but I feel like Jake smelling like Cinnamon is super comforting

He’s just got that super homely dad vibe

Cinnamon is spicy, sweet, and warm yet enticing all in one, which I feel like perfectly portrays Jake

Also, how cute would it be when his children snuggle up with him and get instantly calmed by his scent?? 😭😭

Like if Tuk can’t fall asleep it’s guaranteed she will if you put her in Jake’s arms OFHWFEGWEIJ

This is also biased because I love cinnamon. Fav scent for my fav sully 🙏

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,,  ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈      

Neytiri

Neytiri has an old earthy scent.

And I don’t mean like dirt, I mean the way flowers and aged trees smell.

She looks and smells like what you would expect of a Na’vi from the forest.

Similarly to her mate, Neytiri has a woody scent to her.

But ‘old earthy’ can encompass a lot of things.

Neytiri smells like the definition of what it means to be Omaticaya; grass, herbs, running water, a crisp breeze, you name it.

I like to think that wherever home is it’s with her, because she quite literally carries a part of it with her.

Her scent is also super comforting to the family.

Whenever the kids are missing the Omaticaya, cuddling with Neytiri is a way for them to relieve their homesickness.

As for Jake, Neytiri is simply a reminder of all the things he fell in love with when coming to Pandora.

Like the earthly scent she has to her, she really grounds everyone.

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,,  ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈      

Kiri

Kiri is deffo a sage girl 🤭

Like her scent, she’s strong and leaves an impression.

It’s herbaceous and woodsy like her parents, yet bitter.

Yknow, for her sass LMAO

Okay maybe I’m just giving everyone tree smells but like u can’t blame me 💀

I feel like Sage also really suits Kiri because you definitely often see it in the spiritual community

Kiri knows what herbs are good for healing, is deeply spiritual, and is strongly connected to Eywa

So I feel like it’s no brainer that Kiri would smell like sage, a scent that’s associated with spirituality, yk?

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,,  ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈      

Lo’ak

OOO HE’S A SANDALWOOD AND VANILLA BOY

A deep, woody scent like the rest of his family

But it’s also floral and balsamic, yknow?

Lo’ak’s vibe definitely matches his scent since it’s sweet and soft like him, but is also alluring and charming.

He’s a copy paste of his father so of course he smells pretty homely and comforting too

He has a very warm and saccharine scent to him, but the sandalwood is a deep contrast to show how his personality can also take on a wild form.

(I also just love vanilla)

… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,,  ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈      

Neteyam

Neteyam exudes a scent of pine trees.

If Lo’ak’s scent has a vibe to it that’s a copy paste of his father, then Neteyam is a copy paste of his mother.

Literally just smells like home.

We all know that Neteyam is good with kids since he has siblings, and Tuk is the youngest.

If Neytiri’s not available to comfort her children after their relocation, you know Neteyam’s scent is the next best thing that soothes them.

He smells sharp, sweet, and refreshing, which I think is fairly accurate to Neteyam’s character.

[autisticempathydaemon]

we stroll along (walking in a winter wonderland)

A Skyside holiday exchange gift for @sainthowlzon organized by the adored @angelicaether yes it's January fifth but it's still Winter so run with it

Tags: Vega/Warden (Darling), David/Asher, Sam/Darlin, William/Camelopardalis, Porter/Treasure, mentions of food, mild violence, mild gore Also available on AO3

It is a miraculously white Christmas in Dahlia. This year, the cold winds had blown down just right from the nearby mountains and blanketed the picturesque college town in a glistening sheet of snow straight from a Rockwell painting. Everyone, empowered and unempowered alike, can feel the wonder of Christmas magic in the air. Little did they know how close beings of pure, concentrated magic sat watching, judging. 

“I will never understand humans and their inexplicable wonder at something so pedestrian and natural as frozen, falling water,” Warden muses. In a park below, an energetic wolf shifter leaps into the snow and disappears into the unshoveled heap. His companion- his Alpha, Warden deduces from his aura- watches with an affectionate amusement that doesn’t show on his scowling face. Instead of seeing it, the Warden can taste it- the warm, honeysuckle sweetness of a love left to simmer underneath a pot lid. In contrast, the beta’s joy is fizzing, effervescent, threatening to boil over as he looks up at the taller man with a bright, sunny grin. Visible only to Warden’s Aria-borne senses, their cores mingle and harmonize.

Easily spotted by the inchoate on their rooftop perch but unseen by the enamored wolves, one of their pack sits with a vampire on the other side of the park. The two sit quietly on a bench, facing the garishly lit and decorated evergreen tree that the humans put up for the season, illuminating the boulevard with flashing, twinkling lights. Warden, who coalesced to the sight of the cosmos studded with eons-old stars, always found the ornaments on Elegy to be a poor facsimile. The couple below seem to enjoy it at least, sitting silently but comfortably, shoulders touching, as the world clatters and clamors around them. Their serenity is cool and refreshing; their comfortable intimacy tastes of warm, yeasty bread cut fresh out of the oven. 

The wolf leans their head on the vampire’s shoulder, turning to press a kiss to his scarf-covered neck, and their love adds a sweetness to their flavor. It reminds the inchoate of a rich chocolate being drizzled atop the toasted bread of their peace, the sweetness not cloying or overbearing but complementary, balanced. Unfortunately, Warden senses they are not the only d(a)emon lured by the meal and carefully retreats further into the shadows with a watchful eye. After a moment, familiar, blue-tinted horns come into view, and Camelopardalis walks from behind the tree, him and his companion waving politely at the other couple. 

At seeing their former coworker, an uncomfortable feeling stirs in the inchoate where their stomach would be. Without the added context of taste and flavor sensations, their own emotions remain inscrutable and unsatisfying, impossible to properly name or express. When they see Cam smiling so easily, arm in arm with his vampire companion, Warden cannot say what the twisting in their abdomen means, what the magic running sharp and cold under their skin is trying to convey; they just know they don’t like it. 

To escape the frivolity and saccharine spectacle, the inchoate travels across the rooftops, walking through the rifts from one to another. The snow, lights, and auras blur into a monotonous, humming drone, a dull, tasteless barrage of one-dimensional sweetness on Warden’s tongue. Then something heady edges alongside their consciousness- something rich and spicy like Christmas wine spiked with cloves paired with prime rib dripping with herbed tallow. 

In the alleyway below, another vampire uses the din of the nearby street to cloak his misdeeds. Warden watches as a knife- surely laced with demon blood by the way its waning magic calls to them- is buried in another vampire’s throat and twisted with callous efficiency. It is done so quickly, with such sharp, unyielding movements, that the inchoate hardly has time to savor his bloodlust before it blends with the sour, metallic tang of grim pride at a bloody job well done. The man turns on his heel, strutting down the alley and tossing the blade over his shoulder with gloved hands and hardly a care. He walks with purpose, a bounce in his step, and a feeling emanating off of him too lusting and hungry to be called happiness. The vampire’s intense, tempestuous emotions mix into a potent cocktail reminiscent of gore and viscera, the only sweetness that of slain flesh. It both repulses Warden and entices them; their core hums in want.

“My Darling,” a rumbling voice hums in their mind. “Did you find us something to eat?” Vega’s claws trail lightly down Warden’s horns, sending shivers down their corporeal form, and they nod obediently, wordlessly. The sadism demon nods approvingly at them, his eyes glow a piercing, burning red; he turns, skulking toward that night’s meal, and Warden follows like a lamb to the shepherd, a magi to the brightest star.

[home-of-renn]

Sam loved spending time at the Addam's abode. She loved the shadows that lurk at her back and the dark gloomy clouds that perpetually linger. She loved the sound of the creaking staircase and the murder of crows that nest in the cemetery out front.

She loved Thing's stash of macabre poetry and uncle Fester's giddy sense of humour and Lurch's talent for playing the piano. She loved Morticia's grace and allure - the exact opposite of her own mother's saccharine poise.

But out of all the members of the Addams family, it's Grandmama Frump who's got a special place in the depths of Sam's inky black heart

She positively adored the batty old witch, who had a wide array of hobbies and interests. From cooking and knitting to witchcraft and candle making, she was a woman of many talents.

Sure, she had one or two screws loose, but Sam had been hanging around the Fenton's since second grade and the Addamsses don't store ghosts in soup thermoses.

Grandmama Frump kept marbles and mothballs in her pockets and was a serial collector who loved showing off. She'd once shown Sam her collection of prosthetic eyes, and when asked where, why and how, she'd replied that many of them had been gifted to her by a long-distance ex-boyfriend who'd lived in France.

She had piles and piles of books, many of which were coated in dust and at least a few centuries old. She had books on farming, sewing, child-rearing, sword fighting, fencing, herbology, sailing, tragedies and more. She had books on hexes and curses and brewing potions and poisons. Sam was particularly entranced by an ancient book bound in leather and filled with detailed drawings of plants, little creatures with pointy teeth and rhymes that could cure boils and headaches. It had been written by a young woman who'd been burned at the stake and Grandmama Frump claimed to have traded for it with a pair of good shoes and a bezoar from the stomach of a goat.

She was a fountain of knowledge, insisting upon teaching Sam how to whittle and speak in tounges. Most times Sam would find her hunched over a bubbling cauldron with fistfuls of dried herbs and an array of ornate daggers at her disposal.

She taught Sam how to wrap a broken bone, treat a rotten tooth and make a poultice to soothe blood blossom burns.

She had a tendency to lose her dentures and howl during full moons. She wore rings on every finger, each one of them carrying a different family curse.

She'd sit the whole family down by the fireplace and regal them with absurd tales and grim encounters, most typically dissolving into nonsense and rambles around halfway through.

She had a habit of slipping things into people's pockets when they weren't paying attention. From hard candies wrapped in parchment to little coloured vials filled with lethal concoctions. Sam once found a green vial the of colour jade, no bigger than the nail on her thumb, nestled into the folds of a scarf she had worn the entire afternoon and hadn't taken off once. Now she has an entire windowsill lined with odd little trinkets and colourful little bottles with corked lids and murky contents - the only pop of colour in her dark and dreary bedroom.

Tucker complained about the smell of incense and smoke, but Sam still carried around the bundle of twine and wax that was tied tight with a blood red string - a protection charm for her and her friends. She took it wherever she went and it never left her pocket, for Grandmama Frump had made her swear to never be without it.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Moonlight & Fang Ch. 2

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Jax

The forest before me seems ever endless, and verdant. Its canopy, an amalgamation of Hemlock, Redwood, and Spruce. The twinkling lights that burst through their crowns allowed for disorderly herbs to grow in the soil below. Quiet vines embraced many trees, and a potpourri of flowers, which were seen occasionally, enhanced the otherwise unchanging backdrop.

A mishmash of beastly noises, most belonging to small creatures, reverberated through the air, and were out of sync with the sound of the wind blowing gently through the trees. There was an otherness to these woods. More so than the tales and legends whispered through the village.

Tales of a Hag granting your heart's desires for a price. That price being a curse placed on your eternal soul. Some curses even passed down through the generations, wreaking havoc to entire bloodlines. 

It is also said that a wolf prowls these woods. Guarding its secrets and devouring any man who so dares to trespass upon it. Their bodies have been either reclaimed by the woods or found in pieces skirting the village's walls. 

So why am I so drawn to them? Why do I catch whiffs of an intoxicating scent like I’ve never smelt before on the wind, beckoning me to venture forth and find its source.

For months I have been tormented by the faint smell of lavender, tuberose and honey. I could ignore the pull no longer. I needed to know who this delicious scent belonged to. Myths be damned. If I am to die in these cursed woods, then so be it. For I know somehow, some way, my destiny lies waiting beneath its dark canopy.

Allowing my senses to take the lead, I wandered. The mouthwatering scent growing stronger with each step I took until I came upon what looks to be a clearing in the trees ahead. Bright sunlight calling to me like a beacon. 

As I step out of the shade, my eyes lock onto a set of amber orbs that are already set on mine. I allow my eyes to feast upon the beauty that is before me. Never have I seen a woman as beautiful as the one that stands mere feet away. 

She is otherworldly, to say the least. Shorter in stature than the maidens I’ve grown accustomed to in the village. With curves, covered in a blood red fabric, that have me thinking the most sinful of thoughts. Her skin looks as if it is forever sunkissed. Her hair is full of wild curls in shades of auburn and black.

I am so stricken by her beauty that I almost miss her speaking to me.

“...brings you to my humble manor, deep in the woods?”

Selene

The man attached to the cornflower blue eyes is a feast for the senses. Not only does he smell divine, but his physique has me subtly squeezing my thighs together. From his sandy blonde hair, shorn at the sides, and short beard. To his strong shoulders and clearly muscular body hidden beneath loose fitting clothes. My wolf and I are both in agreement that we want to know more. Mayhaps the fates have finally brought us someone worthy of more than just a filling meal.

“What, good Sir, brings you to my humble manor, deep in the woods?”

My words seem to have shaken him from whatever trance he was under. He clears his throat and shakes his head before speaking.

“I’m not quite sure you’d believe me if I told you the truth.”

��Try me. You may find that I am quite amiable.”

“Alright.” He clears his throat once more. “I have been haunted by a scent on the wind coming from these woods for months now. I could no longer resist the pull to find where or to whom that scent would take me. So I followed my nose and I wound up here.”

I search his face for any signs that he may be deceiving me and find nothing. “Well, that tells me that this is where you are meant to be. The fates have chosen to test you this day. Are you up for the challenge?” I say. A saccharine sweet smile upon my face.

“I have full faith that the gods are in my favor today. What challenge do you purpose, fair maiden of the woods?” He gives a charming smile back. Confident in his chances.

“If your instincts lead you here. Then a game of chase seems fitting to prove your intentions and heart are pure. I will have until the count of 100 to hide myself in the woods. If you so find me and are able to catch me before the moon rises in the sky I will know that your words are true. But if you so fail, you will become the hunted, and your life forfeit.” 

To demonstrate the severity upon the penalty of failure, I smile wide, running my tongue along my sharp fangs and partially shift my hands into claws, as I give a little wave.

Undeterred by the emergence of my wolf, he gives me a dazzling smile. Showing off his very own set of impressive fangs with a wink. Clearly there is more to this man than meets the eye. 

Intriguing.  

“I accept your challenge. When do we begin?”

“Now. Close your eyes and count to 100. Then come find me.” I wait for his eyes to close and the counting to begin. I circle around him twice before setting off into the woods at a leisurely pace. I could navigate these trees with my eyes closed and I easily form several trails for him to follow. Only one will truly lead to me.

Jax

She thinks that by making me count aloud that I wouldn't be able to hear her gentle footsteps or zero in on her tantalizing scent. She is mistaken and I am more than happy to exercise my tracking capabilities.

Before I open my eyes, I tune in to the sounds of the forest around me. Listening in for the gentle thumping of a heart much larger than any small creature that calls these woods home. Next I take a sniff of the air, noting three separate trails that I can follow. 

Clever minx, trying to knock me off my track from the start. We can’t have that now can we.

Locating the tracks, I quickly deduce that they are decoys. Far too much weight was intentionally placed to throw off a would be tracker. A mere human would fall victim to such trickery. Good thing I am no mere mortal.

I allow my wolf to take over my senses. Acting on instinct to locate my mouth watering prey. I take my time pinpointing her exact location as to give her the illusion she stands a chance at besting me.

As I draw closer to the tree she is perched behind, she spins on her heels. Standing she quickly tackles me to the ground and takes off on a path that I can only assume leads back to the manor. 

She’s feisty. We love that. What wolf doesn't love a bit of chase. 

Watching her form retreat as she laughs into the wind only challenges my inner wolf all the more. Without second thought we give chase, and before I know it, I’m taking her down as we break through the treeline onto the manors lawn. 

I pin her to the ground with ease. A cheeky grin upon my face, my breath heaving in my chest as I admire my well won prize. 

I can’t help but to lean down and scent her, right at the source. A purr escapes my chest as my wolf becomes content that she is the one that has unknowingly been calling to him all this time.

“I knew my destiny would be found today. What is your name, sweet Omega?”

She pauses a moment before answering me. Taking in all of me as I am her. “Selene.”

“Like the goddess. Fitting.” I jest. 

“You have no idea.” She laughs. “And by what moniker do you use other than Alpha?”

“Jax. I may be an Alpha, but to the village I am nothing more than the orphaned stableboy.”

“So you have no knowledge of your parentage?”

“None.”

“Lucky you. Do they know a wolf lurks within their walls?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I’ve kept that part of myself a secret. Learned to control the shift. Best way to keep my head on my shoulders.”

“Hmm. Well, you’ve caught me. What is it you wish to claim in victory.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I know you feel the pull too. It’s like we’re fated. Your blood calls to my blood like your scent compliments mine. The fact that you haven't shifted and torn me to shreds yet tells me I have a chance. So what say you, little red? Would you like to try me on for size?”

“My, oh my, what charm you have. Be warned. My bite is far worse than my bark.” The next thing I know she is pulling me down and kissing me with a ferocity I am compelled to match. 

She nips at my lip with her fangs. Licking the blood that spills. “Mmm you taste as decadent as you smell. You may be of use to me yet.”

Selene

Before he can think of a response, I use my thighs to roll us over. Sitting precariously upon his hips, I run my hands along his torso. Feeling the bumps and grooves of defined muscle underneath. My wolf is not happy with the barrier that separates his skin from mine. Ripping his shirt open rectifies that situation and I can feel her preening beneath my skin. 

I take a moment to admire the expanse of pale, chiseled and scarred skin before me. That is all he needs to render my beautiful red dress the same fate as his shirt. The ease in which my bodice falls apart in his hands, has me gasping out a laugh. 

He tightens those amazing abs of his, rising into a seated position and teases my exposed breasts with his tongue as he removes the gown completely from my body. He runs his rough, callused fingers along my smooth skin as if he's transfixed by how the setting sun reflects off of it. 

Lifting me off of his lap, he lays me down beside him on the grass. Rising to his knees, he maintains eye contact with me as he unlaces his trousers. I break eye contact, as he begins to pull them down over his thick thighs, revealing his impressive cock. I can’t help but to spread my own thighs and run a finger along my folds, collecting my slick as I watch a drop of precum slide down along his length. 

He groans, fisting his girth as his eyes track each stroke of my fingers as they dance a most familiar cadence against my clit. “I have something far better than those tiny little fingers to bring you the pleasure you seek. I’d ask you to present for me, but I’m smarter than that.”

A tiny moan escapes as I tease my sweet spot. “I submit for no man. Or, wolf.  Actually, no man has ever earned my submission. But you’re welcome to try. You did catch me after all.”

A growl is all the warning I get before he lunges forward, burying his face between my legs and licking me from entrance to clit, gorging himself on my sweet ambrosia. His wolf is clearly at the helm as he pulls my thighs over his shoulders and lifts me off the ground. Practically bending me in half to feast upon the best thing he has ever consumed in his life. 

It doesn't take long before he has me coming on just his tongue. But that is not enough for him, oh no. Driven purely by instinct, he slides his thick fingers inside me, tongue still circling my clit and makes me come undone two more times. 

Satisfied with himself he places my lower half back down onto the grass. Allowing me to catch my breath. Lust blown eyes zeroed in on me as he licks his lips and fingers clean of my essence. This has my wolf preening like I’ve never felt her do before. It seems she finds Jax to be a worthy mate. And I have to agree.

To his surprise, based on the widening of his eyes, I roll over onto my stomach. Raising my hips, I keep my chest pressed to the ground, turn my head to the side, arch my back and present my weeping slit to him. Giving him what no other beast or man has earned. My submission. 

He purrs, inching closer on his knees to run his hands along my hips. He exhibits a modicum of control as he teases my glistening folds with the head of his cock. Doesn't he understand how badly both my wolf and I want him. 

He’s taking his sweet time and all I want is to feel him stretch me open. It’s too much and I begin to beg. “Please. I need you inside me, Alpha. Please.” 

It’s like a switch goes off in his head, as my whimpering hits his ears. He enters me in one strong thrust and sets a pace to rearrange my insides. It’s pure fucking bliss! It’s rough and feral. Leaving a lasting imprint on my body and soul.

I let out a whine as he pulls all the way out. Sitting back on his haunches, he lifts me up, spins me around to face him and impales me back on his cock. I stare at him with glazed over eyes. Head fuzzy and body feeling floaty. 

“Ride me, Omega. Ride me until my knot pops deep inside you. I want to watch you come undone as I fill you up.”

With the aid of his hands on my hips I begin to ride him. Finding a rhythm that has us both vocalizing how good it feels to be joined together in this way. He hand wraps around my throat, applying pressure that makes my pussy clench around his girth. My nails scratch down his back, leaving behind red tracks in their wake. I let my walls down and give myself completely over to the power that is emanating between us. 

I can feel the subtle thickening at the base of his cock. The tale tale sign of his knot about to pop. I lean back, maintaining eye contact as I give him a devilish smile. With a speed he was unprepared for I bite down on the spot between his neck and shoulder, claiming him as his knot pops. Which sets off my own orgasm. Both us succumbing to the pleasure coursing through our veins. 

Without thought, his wolf taking over once me, he returns the claim. Biting my neck in the same location, securing our bond as the moon rises high in the sky.

We dislodge our fangs and lick each other's claims clean of any blood. I take the time to run my fingers along his face. Examining the rugged beauty I find there and committing it to memory, in the event that he too is stolen from me, as were all the important beings in my life.

He runs his nose along mine. Nuzzling into my cheek as his fingers dance along my spine. Whispering against my skin. “You made me yours.”

“That I did.” I lift his face between my hands and look into his stunning cornflower blue eyes. “And you completed the bond by making me yours. Do you regret it?”

“No.” He succinctly states. “Outside of my wolf, all I’ve ever truly known is loneliness. I had to keep him hidden. Could never truly be with anyone while I kept this darkness inside.”

“I understand that darkness well. I couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to have to suppress it. My beast and I are two sides of the same coin. We can’t exist without the other. I am just as bloodthirsty as she. And she is as protective as me.”

“That is why I believe the fates brought me here today. To finally find my balance.” He kisses my lips. “And my mate.”

He lays us down in the soft grass. Still joined together by our mating. Kissing and cuddling as we drift off to sleep under the silver light of the moon.

“Our sweet little red has found herself a worthy mate.” Hecate croons.

“1 of 5 as the stars have divined.” Persephone sings.

“It’s all finally coming together.” Selene beams. 

“1 of 5?” I ask. Unclear of what exactly is going on and why I am being visited in my dreams this night.

“You heard correctly my dear.” The Mother, my namesake, informs me. “The stars have created 5 true mates for you. 5 souls that are destined to cross your path.”

The Maiden in her excitement takes over. “Upon claiming your 5th mate, balance will be restored to the land surrounding the manor and the curses placed upon the village by your mother shall forever be broken.”

“The villagers will no longer wonder about the deep dark woods and you can live in peace. Bringing into the world a new breed of supernatural's that will change the world for the better.” The Crone declares.

“That is quite an undertaking for one wolf. How will I know who is fated for me?” I question. 

“Follow your instincts. Just as you have tonight. Your wolf will never steer you wrong. They will prove themselves worthy without question.” They impart, completing each other's sentences.

“Now return to the land of the living my child. Your mate will be rousing soon.” 

With Selene’s parting words and soft kiss to my forehead, I am awakened to the feel of hard flesh rutting against my thigh and the vibrations of a purr tickling my ears.

“Having good dreams, are we?” I ask husk out. Voice rough from our screams of passion and a deep sleep.

“The best.” He squeezes me closer to his chest. “I found this wicked little she wolf, who did despicable things to my body.”

“Sounds delightful. Don’t let me interrupt.” I tease. Moving to roll off of his chest.

He growls, pulling me closer. He grips my thigh, raising it high on his torso and slams inside me. “You’re not going anywhere, Omega.”

[eolewyn1010]

#OCkiss24 - day 1

It has begun.

What I wanna say, I'm participating in the @ockissweek event this year, doing a mixed batch of drawings and written one-shots, and we're starting with a little writing today, picking up the day's prompt of "almost". As per the rules, not every kiss situation I set up is a romantic one, but today's definitely is. Boys, take it away.

[just about 1000 words]

“Would you like help with that?”

Joachanan frowned at that, raising his head and shielding his eyes from the sun to have a look at who would ask a slave such a question. Oh. Him.

Thinking that he was completely out of place here, Jochanan smiled up at the emperor’s favorite in a way that could at best be described as saccharine. “We wouldn’t want you to get dirt on your fancy clothes, now would we?”

And he went back to weeding out the garden. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed working as a kitchen servant far more than being Hadrian’s footman; his previous occupation had never kept him safe from the emperor’s moods, and it hadn’t been easy to stay out of his way, either. Pretty boys had always been trouble for Jochanan, even back home, and this one… this one was particularly pretty.

Also, he hadn’t left him alone. Jochanan sighed pointedly as Antinous knelt on the ground next to him and examined the plants he was plucking off. “Which ones need to go?”

“Look,” instead of giving him an answer, Jochanan adopted a tone in which he would usually talk to a small child. He is what, two years younger than me? Doesn’t matter. He’s the emperor’s. “This is slaves’ work, and I’m expected to do it as quickly as possible; when I’m done here, the cooks still need a bunch of herbs for today’s feast. Just stay out of my way, will you? The emperor will be all the happier for it.”

He didn’t get an answer for a moment and hoped he had put Antinous off of his misplaced helpfulness, but then the lad – the kid, Jochanan sharply reminded himself – grabbed for the smaller, still empty basket. “Then I’ll stay out of your way and collect the ones you need instead,” he suggested.

Jochanan looked up to glare at him and failed. Antinous looked like a goddamn puppy, all big, hopeful, brown eyes, eager to please. Of course he was; he’d been raised to please. Raising an eyebrow, Jochanan pointed at the plant beds he was already done with. “Well, do you know celery? Fennel? Rue? Thyme?”

Antinous blinked, then he hesitantly set to work.

Jochanan shook his head. “What is with you? Are you bored?”

That actually got a laugh out of Antinous. “Why are you always so acrid?”

Jochanan rolled his eyes. “What are you here for, if not for my sparkling wit?”

“It’s true; compared to the others, you’re quite entertaining.”

Jochanan’s head whipped around. Entertaining!? He already opened his mouth for another snide reply when he saw the corner of Antinous’ mouth twitch. That little shit had been out for a reaction. That little shit also had a dimple. In a huff, Jochanan looked back down on his plants. The gall of him. He was too old for dimples.

Jochanan picked up a small lump of dirt and flung it at Antinous. This time, they both laughed. Antinous shook his head and ran his fingers through his black curls to get the dirt out. “It’s not so much to do when His Grace keeps wandering from one palace to another all over Greece,” he explained. “I guess I am bored – after a while, it’s kind of all the same, and I’ve been along for a few years.” After a look around, he mused: “It’s nicer than Rome, I’ll admit.”

“Everything is nicer than Rome,” Jochanan remarked and leaned over to take a plant out of Antinous’ basket.

He only noticed what he was doing, how close he’d gotten to him, when Antinous’ voice was right next to his ear now. “Not this one?”

Jochanan cleared his throat. “Unless you want to poison him.” He dropped the herb to the other waste. “Not a bad idea, all in all.” With that, he stood up.

Antinous sent a reprimanding glower after him before he got to his feet, too. “His Grace is of excellent health and still has many years ahead of him,” he asserted.

Jochanan replied with a noncommittal hum; they were on their way back to the palace and the risk of someone hearing him talk in such a way was too great. Though if it were up to him, Hadrian would drop dead rather today than tomorrow.

“What would you even do if he died? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?” Antinous asked. “I know I would be at a loss…”

Jochanan huffed. “I would run,” he said. “All the way to port, aboard a ship back to the Levant. And then hatch another uprising.”

His smug tone got him an astonished look from Antinous. “You don’t value your life all that highly, do you?”

“I do in fact value my hide, which is why you’re not going in there with me,” Jochanan said and took the basket from Antinous before the kitchen’s door. “If they see you here with me, looking like that,” he nodded toward the soil stains on Antinous’ knees, “I will get beaten.”

With that, he turned over. And was held back by the arm. “Jochanan, wait.”

He didn’t even have the time to try and appear exasperated when he looked at Antinous now. He knew that look. Antinous wanted – oh.

He was taller than Jochanan, so he had to lean down to him, and it was the only moment Jochanan got to tumble through a whole array of thoughts. Yes – no – trouble – I want him to – the emperor’s favorite.

He is the emperor’s.

Jochanan turned his face to the side, his heart thumping all the way up in his throat. The kiss landed on his cheek. Jochanan took a deep breath, fought down the urge to kiss him, and stepped back.

Antinous blushed and lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

You should be. Keep to yourself what I’m not allowed to have.

“If Hadrian learns of that, it won’t be me you have to apologize to.” Jochanan just about managed the retort, but his voice didn’t sound like it was his. His head felt fluttery and dizzy, his stomach twisting in on itself. Need to get away from him. He hastily rushed past Antinous and slammed the door between the kitchen and the garden.

He’s not mine to kiss, the thought hammered in his head. He’s the emperor’s, and I will keep away from him.