#so you can make other kinds of cobblestone

[knightpixie]

oh

that's how you make clay in this modpack

[kairoot]

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 — 西村力.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: during the village’s annual moon festival, the moon shines big and bright. legend says that it reveals a person’s true emotions under its light and can rekindle lost feelings. when you move to the little romance village, it’s bustling with talk of the festival and a famous local painter. deciding to see what the gossip was about, you attend said moon festival. but what happens when you run into this unknown artist under the moon’s light?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: niki x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , s2l, soulmates (???), folklore kinda thing.. 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : riki is kind of a loner .. ( 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒏’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 ) : special thank you to nini ^^ @flwrstqr for proofreading for me, I love u ♡︎. pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎ WC: 3.3K

**

THE VILLAGE SQUARE WAS a kaleidoscope of lights, colors, and laughter. Lanterns hung from just about every surface, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone streets. The air was full of sweet scents, coming from every corner of the small town.

You weaved through the large crowd, taking in all of the sights and sounds. It was beyond anything you’d ever experienced. Being a new resident to the town, you couldn’t understand what all of the excitement was about over one festival but now you felt the same way everyone else did.

Melodic strains of the village’s music played, causing people all around to dance together, not caring if they were strangers to one another. You smiled, the sight somehow bringing you joy.

After walking a few miles, an older shop catches your eye. The traditional decorations hanging outside the tiny building, with a crescent moon sketched on the wooden door. You opened it to walk in, the small bell ringing as the door moved.

You were greeted with the sharp tang of an earthy aroma of dried clay and the rich smell of more wood from the easels, frames, and shelves. The subtle hint of fresh pencil shavings, and the crisp scent of new canvases waiting to be transformed.

A few employees smiled and waved at you, their kindness making you feel welcome as you got ready to explore this new environment. The store was quiet; the only noise being a few painters conversing with one another, the low traditional music that played in the background, and pencils or paintbrushes moving against the canvases.

You walked further into the shop, wandering around the shelves to look at different tools and paintings that had been hung up on display.

You ran your hand over the wooden shelf, another crescent moon etched into the dark surface.

This town is serious about the moon, you thought.

You continued your mini journey through the aisles, amazed by some of the artistry inside of them.

But a certain painting seems to pique your interest. You let your feet guide you to the image, captivated by the delicate brushstrokes that brought the scene to life. Just as you let your fingertips graze the painting, another hand brushed against yours. Startled, you pulled your hand away at the same time as the other person’s, causing the art to fall to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologize to the stranger, before you both chuckle at the small incident. The stranger crouches to pick the canvas up from the ground, holding it with a firm grasp.

You look up, only to see a much taller male in front of you, dressed in all black with a paint splattered apron tied around his waist. His eyes sharp but filled with surprise as he stared back at you.

His beauty captivated you in a way. In a way where you couldn’t even find your words or perhaps even start a conversation.

You both stood silently until he sucked in a breath, hesitant on whether he wanted to say something.

“So, uh—, arts’ your thing, too?” He glanced at the painting in his hands and then back at you, a gentle smile making its way to his face.

“I guess I’ve found it kind of interesting lately,” you beamed, feeling a bit more at ease. “What about you?”

“Yeah, uh, this is mine actually..” He trailed off. Your eyes widened in surprise, suddenly feeling guilty for the incident that had occurred a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to knock it down, I was just curious, and—“

He looked down, chuckling, “It’s no problem. I was thinking of chunking it anyway.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “But it’s way too good for you to just throw away like that.”

He shrugged, still smiling a bit. “I don’t know.. I’m just not too fond of it.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Why’s that? It seems really beautiful to me.”

He looked at you with a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Well, if you’re interested, you can make your own. I give mini-lessons from time to time. If you’re free, I’d be happy to show you some techniques.”

A smile crept onto your face. “I’d love that.”

“I’m Riki, by the way.” He extended his larger hand.

You shook his hand, the warm and firm grip making you feel as if you had butterflies in your stomach.

“Y/n.”

The sunlight filtered gently through the shop's windows, casting a warm, inviting glow over the art supplies and canvases. You arrived at the store a bit early, your excitement barely contained. Riki was setting up a small workspace in the back corner, his movements precise and deliberate. The room was filled with the rich scents of paint and wood, a comforting backdrop for the lesson ahead.

“Hey,” Riki greeted as you walked in, his smile making your heart flutter. “Ready for your mini-lesson?”

You nodded, trying to maintain a calm exterior but feeling a tingle of nerves. “Definitely!”

Riki’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he motioned for you to join him at the small table. “Alright, grab an apron and we’ll start with some basics. I’ll show you how to create depth and texture in your painting.”

You took one of the dark aprons off of the hook by the door and took a seat. Riki’s proximity made you acutely aware of his presence. He stood close enough that you could catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the earthy aroma of the paint. As he demonstrated the brushstrokes, his hand occasionally brushed against yours, sending a shy smile to your lips.

“Alright, so you want to use a light touch for the highlights,” Riki said, his voice warm and encouraging. He leaned in slightly to show you the technique up close, his face just inches from yours. The closeness made your cheeks warm, and you found it hard to focus on the painting as you became acutely aware of the soft sound of his breath and the gentle way he spoke.

“Like this,” he continued, guiding your hand with his own. His fingers were careful and steady, and you felt a gentle pressure as he helped you maneuver the brush. “The key is to layer the colors gradually, so it builds up the texture without looking too harsh.”

His hand lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him. Riki’s eyes were soft, and his smile was reassuring. “You’re doing great. Just remember to relax and let the brush do the work.”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath as you followed his instructions. The way he spoke to you, with such patience and attentiveness, made your heart race. Each time he leaned in to offer guidance, you felt a flutter of shyness but also an endearing sense of comfort.

Riki moved to the other side of the table, giving you space but still offering occasional tips and encouragement. “You’re really picking this up fast,” he said with genuine admiration, his voice carrying a note of pride. “You have a natural eye for detail..”

You blushed at his compliment, focusing on your painting with renewed determination. “Thanks. I’ve really enjoyed learning from you.”

He smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting a hint of something more than just professional interest. “I’ve enjoyed having you as my ‘student’.”

As the lesson continued, you found yourself growing more confident. Riki’s careful instruction and the way he interacted with you made the experience both educational and heartwarming. Every time he offered a correction or praised your work, it felt like a gentle nudge toward something greater.

By the end of the session, you were both smiling, the painting before you a testament to the techniques Riki had shared. “I think you’re ready for more advanced techniques next time,” he said, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “But for now, you’ve done really great.”

You beamed, feeling a mix of accomplishment and affection for the kind-hearted teacher who had made your art journey so special. “Thank you. I can’t wait for our next lesson.”

As you packed up your things, Riki’s gaze lingered on you with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. “I’m looking forward to it too,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

You left the shop with a smile, carrying not just the knowledge of painting but also the warmth of a shared connection.

A few days later, the festival was in full swing again, but this time it was a different night. You decided to take a quiet walk to a nearby beach, not too far from the festival setup. The moon hung low in the sky, casting its silver light over the ocean waves.

You carried with you a small set of painting materials, inspired by the techniques Riki had taught you. Setting up on the sand, you began to paint the scene before you: the moonlit waves and the gentle shimmer of the water. With each brushstroke, you used the tips he had given you, trying to capture the serene beauty of the moment.

The night was quiet, save for the soft sound of the waves and the occasional distant laughter from the festival. As you worked, you felt a sense of peace and contentment, lost in the beauty of the moment.

After a while, you sensed someone approaching. Turning slightly, you saw Riki walking towards you, his eyes bright with curiosity and admiration. He stopped a few feet away, watching you paint with a soft smile on his face.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice gentle. "I didn't expect to find you here."

You smiled back, feeling a flutter of happiness at his presence. "I needed some quiet time to practice. I’ve been kind of inspired."

Riki moved closer, sitting down next to you on the sand. His proximity was comforting, and you felt a warm sense of connection as he admired your work. "You've really captured the essence of the scene," he said, his eyes scanning your painting. "It's like seeing the world through your eyes."

His compliment made your heart swell with pride. "Thanks.. I’ve been trying to use the techniques you taught me.”

“Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his face. “My techniques?”

You chuckled lightly, nodding, “Yes, your technique.”

You continued to paint, occasionally glancing at Riki, who watched with genuine interest.

The moonlight cast a soft glow on his features, making the moment feel even more magical. After a while, Riki spoke, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

"You know, the legend of the moon... it's said to reveal the truth about one's emotions," he began, his eyes fixed on the waves. "I've always been afraid to let the moon see mine, not after what happened before."

You looked at him with curiosity. “What happened?”

He sighed softly, looking out at the ocean. “I once let the moonlight reveal my true feelings and it led to heartbreak. It was... painful.. But that’s a story for another day..”

He turned to you, his eyes sincere and vulnerable. “Somehow, being with you, I don’t feel that fear. There’s something about tonight, and about you, that makes me believe in the magic of the moon again.”

You felt a pang of sympathy and reached out, gently placing your hand on his. “Riki, you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you. It’s just... hard to think about sometimes. The pain was so real, and it made me afraid to show my true emotions again.”

You squeezed his hand gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m here. Though we met nights ago, I’m here.”

 Riki‘s eyes softened, and he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The moon’s light bathed the beach in a gentle glow, illuminating the quiet understanding between you. Riki’s honesty and openness resonated deeply, and you felt a sense of connection that was both comforting and profound.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you until your shoulders almost touched. The warmth of his body next to yours was a silent reassurance, a wordless promise of support. “You’re really something, you know that?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you turned to look at him, finding his gaze already on you. “I could say the same about you,” you replied, feeling the intimacy of the moment deepen.

Riki’s eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and strength, a silent testament to the pain he carried and the bravery it took to admit it. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against yours as he spoke. “It’s just... sometimes the memories are too painful. But being here with you, it makes it a little easier to bare.”

You felt a surge of tenderness for him, your heart aching at the thought of the hurt he’d endured. “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unspoken emotion. “Thank you. It’s... it’s a lot, but knowing I have someone who understands means everything.”

The waves whispered their secrets to the shore, and the moon shone down, wrapping you both in its gentle embrace. The moment was filled with quiet revelations and tender support, a reminder that sometimes, the simple act of being present could be the greatest comfort of all. 

As the night continued, you returned to your painting, the brush gliding smoothly across the canvas. Riki watched you with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with admiration and something more—a tenderness that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

Unbeknownst to both of you, the moonlight was beginning to take effect, subtly enhancing the emotions between you. Every glance exchanged, every soft touch, carried a deeper meaning, an unspoken promise of what could be.

You finished your painting, setting the brush down and turning to Riki. He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Come on,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s take a break.”

He led you to the water’s edge, where the waves gently lapped at the shore. The cool water splashed over your feet, sending a delightful shiver up your spine. Riki laughter filled the air, infectious and free, and you couldn’t help but join in.

You ran along the shoreline, the waves chasing after you, and for a moment, all your worries melted away. Riki caught up to you, grabbing your hand and spinning you around, both of you laughing as you stumbled into the shallow waves.

The moonlight danced on the water, casting a magical glow over everything. You splashed each other, the cool water mingling with the warmth of your laughter. Riki’s hand never left yours, his grip firm yet gentle, grounding you in the moment.

At one point, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as the waves rolled in. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you under the moon’s tender gaze. You looked up at him, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply in your soul.

“Riki,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the ocean.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I know,” he replied softly, his breath mingling with yours. “I feel it too.”

The moonlight seemed to intensify, casting a silver halo around you both. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken words and shared feelings. Then, with a gentle tug, Riki led you back to the shore, where you sat together, the waves gently lapping at your feet.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you. The night was filled with love-filled glances and quiet intimacy, a perfect blend of comfort and connection. The magic of the moon had done its work, weaving a spell of closeness that would linger long after the night had ended.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop. Riki’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your hand, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through you. He seemed lost in thought, and you didn’t want to disturb the quiet peace that had settled over you both.

But then, as if needing to break the silence, he spoke again, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever fully heal from what happened. It’s like a part of me is still stuck in that moment.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. “Healing takes time, Riki. And it’s okay to feel that way. Just remember, you don’t have to face it alone.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I do. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay too.”

Riki’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. 

The intimacy of the moment deepened, the air around you thick with unspoken emotions. Riki’s fingers continued to trace gentle patterns on your hand, each touch sending a warm, tingling sensation through you. You could feel the connection between you growing stronger, the bond solidifying in a way that felt both natural and profound.

As the night wore on, the two of you shared stories, laughter, and moments of comfortable silence. You found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected, sharing parts of yourself you usually kept hidden. Riki listened with genuine interest, his responses thoughtful and kind.

Eventually, the lure of the waves became irresistible again, and you found yourselves splashing through the shallows, once again, laughing and playing like children. Riki’s laughter was infectious, his joy a balm to your soul. You chased each other through the surf, the cool water a delightful contrast to the warmth of your growing affection.

At one point, Riki caught you around the waist, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. You laughed, the sound pure and free, your heart swelling with happiness. He set you down gently, his arms still wrapped around you as the waves hit your ankles.

The moonlight bathed you both in its gentle glow, casting a magical light over the scene. Riki’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “For everything.”

You smiled, your heart full. “I should be the one thanking you. This has been... amazing.”

Riki’s eyes held a promise, a silent vow of what could be. “Let’s make a pact,” he said softly. “No more hiding. From the moon, from each other, from ourselves.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of hope and determination. “Deal.”

The night continued, filled with love-filled glances, quiet intimacy, and the gentle lapping of the waves. The magic of the moon had woven a spell of connection and understanding, one that would linger long after the festival lights had faded. As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you knew that this night would be a cherished memory, a moment of pure, unadulterated connection.

And as Riki‘s hand found yours once more, you knew that even if you had met only nights before, for some reason you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

✩

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

[fioiswriting]

The lust we share

Summary : When your husband takes you to Harrenhal, you meet his lover. And things don't turn out the way you thought they would.

Rating : Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Pairing : Aemond Targaryen x reader, Alys Rivers x Reader, Aemond x Reader x Alys

TW : pwp, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, light angst, threesome, unprotected sex, breeding kink (implied), praising kink, loss of virginity,  not proofread.

Words count : 3652

AN : hi everyone!! How are you doing ? SO I know. I know I should be working on all my other works in progress BUT I had this idea and…Well. I had to write this. Who else is excited to see Alys??? Btw I’ve finished my exams and my internship, so I should have more time to write <3

Sorry, it’s filthy. As always. 

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !! 

Enjoy 🖤

From the moment you see her, you're mesmerised by her striking beauty, which makes her mysterious and dangerous. There's something intriguing about her gaze, as if she's reading through you, and it sends shivers down your spine every time. She seems to pierce your soul, deciphering your deepest secrets, leaving you both entranced and unsettled. She moves with a graceful confidence, her long black curls bouncing behind her. You don't know where to look. She's mesmerising. Your gaze is relentlessly drawn back to her.  She has curves where you don't.  A confidence you don't have.

You can only see in her what you lack in yourself, and in a way, you understand Aemond.

But Alys is surprisingly gentle with you. Her eyes show a kind of pity. You were nervous, frightened, and the edges of your thumbs can testify to that.  After all, Alys is the other woman. Or maybe it's you, the other woman. Alys was there before you, after all. And she exudes a confidence, a poise, a maturity that you'll never be able to match, as if she were able to bend anyone or anything to her will. You can see why they say she's a witch. 

With you it's different. Alys is patient. You just don't like the pitying tone she uses when she talks to you, as if you were a frail little thing to be pitied, as if she's afraid to break you – but you're no doll. You're not made of glass. You don't need pity. She knows you had no choice. You were forced to follow your husband to Harrenhal.  Maybe that’s why she pities you.

She wonders how you manage to stay by his side, when you know the horrors he's committed, and it's something you wonder too. Every step he takes is made of ashes and blood, and you know the cries still haunt the walls of Harrenhal.  The blood is probably still fresh, soaking the cobblestones.

She's made a habit of brushing your hair, stroking your long curls, cradling you and talking to you, and there's something comforting about the way she mothers you. You seek solace in her arms, when your husband is distant. At least you are not alone.

Your marriage to Aemond is recent. She listens as you confide in her and caresses your head. You are young and frightened, and you know the King needed an alliance to continue the war - your father had military and financial support to offer him.  Marrying into the Targaryen family is a privilege no one can refuse. And especially not when your husband is the Prince Regent.

"Does he treat you well?" Your gaze meets hers in the mirror, but you are quick to look away. There's something too sincere in looking into her eyes. You feel as if she can see into your soul, read the truth, reveal your secrets, and that makes you uncomfortable. 

" He's cold. Distant," you reply. Because it's true, Aemond is caught up in the gears of war, and he doesn't have much time for you, but you accept the place he's given you.  He has a need to control, you've noticed. He controls and owns and dictates the rules of the game. Maybe it's comforting, for him, maybe it's his way of coping.  He never shows vulnerability, at least not to you. 

"Does he satisfy you?" Your face immediately turns red. You don't know how to tell her that you haven't consummated the marriage yet. You got married in a hurry. You didn't have time for -

At least he insisted you accompany him to Harrenhal. He didn't want you waiting for him in the Red Keep, he wanted you close to him. Because you are his wife, he said. 

"We... We didn't..." You babble. You search for your words. And then you see her smirk, a subtle hint of a smile, almost imperceptibly curling the corners of her lips. You hardly know her, it's strange to discuss such intimate matters with your husband's lover. She knows him better than you do. Perhaps he showed her vulnerability, perhaps she knows what scars his soul. You wonder what she's thinking. She's indecipherable. Alys is a mystery. She exudes a special aura.

" What a pity," is all Alys answers. She has finished combing your hair. She takes the strands that have fallen across your chest and pulls them back behind your back, admiring her work. You hardly recognise yourself. You look bold. Almost confident. Your cleavage is accentuated. You look pretty.

You let her fingers brush over your bare shoulders, the touch light and pleasant. She places the finishing touch around your neck; a sapphire necklace. 

"Now you look like a future queen," she whispers, her lips painted red in the hollow of your ear, and you shiver. With desire or surprise, you don't really know. There's a kind of certainty in her voice that intrigues you. You're not quite sure what that is. For a brief moment, you have the feeling that you detect some truth in her words, and you say nothing. Her eyes are shining. 

Perhaps there's a part of unspoken desire there that you keep hidden beneath your innocent appearance.

You feel your husband's burning gaze on you all evening. You are alone at dinner. The two of you. The servants have brought the dishes and left immediately. He's at the other end of the table, his head held high, separated from you by steaming plates that make your mouth water. He has barely spoken, but you know that Aemond is a man of few words. He's all about quality.

"You look beautiful."

You politely accept the compliment. You like to feel that he fancies you. But then again, who doesn't like compliments? You cut your meat, your movements precise and delicate, like the lady you've been taught to become all your life. You play your role to perfection, it's a form of comfort, at least.

"I'm pleased that you find me to your liking, husband."

He looks satisfied. A silence falls over you. You are still hesitant in his company. You still have to adjust to him. You need to know how far you can go. What are your possibilities and your limits.

" She's intriguing, your Alys. "Your voice doesn't sound quite the way you would like it to, and you blame yourself. It gives the impression that you're reproaching him. That's not what you want. He stares at you with his one good eye, unreadable. 

"My Alys," he muses. "She is, indeed." He lets a doubt linger, and you regret having brought up the subject of Alys. "She sees much and more. She saw a future for me." He pauses. You raise your eyes to him, puzzled. "For us."  You and him, he means. And for a split second, you wonder if this has anything to do with what she told you.  A future queen. She said you looked like a future queen.

Your pulse quickens. The idea seems dizzying.  But there are certain desires that should remain buried, you know it. You don't want to appear power-hungry, even if your core is burning at the thought of having the whole Kingdom at your feet. 

Perhaps your husband can see it in your eyes.

Aemond wears the Conqueror's Crown on his head like the Prince Regent that he is, and you can't help but think that it suits him so well. It's what he is made for. He looks like a statue carved in marble, ethereal and suspended in time, the embodiment of Targaryen beauty and grace.

How can such an angelic face hide such a cruel man?

"But don't be jealous, wife." He continues in the face of your silence. His voice is cold. It cuts through the air like a sharp knife. "For it is you I have chosen to marry, and I intend to be a dutiful husband."

You feel your cheeks flush. He's watching you so intently. His good eye shines even brighter than the sapphire you know hides under his eye patch. You feel as if he's undressing you with his gaze. 

"I want you, tonight."

The statement sends a wave of heat between your thighs. You know what he means. You want it too. But to hear him express his desire so clearly, as if leaving no room for discussion, awakens a familiar sensation in your core. Aemond wants to take what he wants, what is rightfully his, and you may be sick in your head because the idea excites you as much as it frightens you. He's dangerous.  You know what he's done. And yet. And yet, you can't help but want him. 

By the time the meal is over, he's already standing in front of you. Tall. He towers over you, and as he leans towards you, forcing your chin up with the tip of his forefinger, he whispers, "You wouldn't deny your husband, would you?"

Gods, you can feel your arousal forming between your thighs, spreading across the fabric of your underwear. He's looking at you, his purple eye burning with desire. Between his legs, a visible bulge is already stretching the linen fabric. You notice it easily; it reflects the hunger you can read in his eyes.

"I wouldn't. Not when you are already so desperate."

To back up your words, your eyes drop to his crotch. He clenches his jaw and remains silent for a moment. You wonder what he's thinking, what thoughts are racing through his brain right now. He looks at you with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if studying an unknown specimen. Maybe you've been too bold.  Maybe he likes it. 

"I bet you are already wet."

A shiver runs down your spine. He doesn't look away, not for a moment, and your eyes are relentlessly drawn to his, as if hypnotised. 

" Check. "

He doesn't waste any time. His fingers run down your body, slipping under the thick layers of your dress - you're wearing green to please him, but it's not the colour of your house. They work their way up your leg, up the inside of your thigh, raising goosebumps on your skin in a long shiver of pleasure. You feel him brush against your folds; a touch so light it's like a ghost. But isn't that his purpose, to haunt you in the depths of your soul? When he ventures between your warm folds, your teeth bite your lower lip to prevent the slightest sound from escaping your lips. You don't want to give him that privilege. You don't want to show him that you need him.

"Indeed, you are."

He captures your innermost essence with the tip of his finger and immediately withdraws his hand. His forefinger touches his thumb, and he inspects the transparent thread that stretches between his fingers. You look away. Your cheeks are flushed. You're burning with embarrassment at your body's betrayal.  He wipes his fingers and straightens up as if nothing had happened.

"Be there when I call for you."

And with that, he leaves the room. You're left alone, staring at the flame dancing in the middle of a candle. Between your thighs, your centre throbs.  Your husband is a mystery.

You are lying on the bed. Panting, you are drowning in a combination of feverish pleasure and anticipation of what is to come. Alys plants kisses on the back of your neck, spicy and intoxicating like the finest Dornish wine. Her fingers brush over your nipples, and with a deft movement, she rolls them between her forefinger and thumb, pinching them gently.  She is behind you. You lie with your back against her full breasts, her legs on either side of your body. Her long black hair tickles your collarbones as she leans towards you, and an herbal scent wafts through the air; a mixture of sage and lavender.

Her lips were between your thighs a moment ago. With devotion, the tip of her tongue explored your still untouched womanhood, collecting the fruits of your desire, her fingers drawing circles against your entrance. She's experienced. She knows what she's doing. You've never felt anything like this before. And when your thighs have closed around her face, one of your hands buried in her thick mass of black hair, she welcomed your climax into her mouth. Her half-closed eyes looked up at you from under her long lashes, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She seemed proud of herself, and of her work.  You're sure she can still taste you on her lips.

When she had finished, she remained between your legs for a moment, tracing little circles on your lower stomach, her lips still glistening with your essence and her own saliva. Your chest rose and fell quickly.  Red with embarrassment, you didn't dare meet her eyes and see the blatant traces of your shared sin still staining the lower part of her face. She let you catch your breath. Regain your senses. Come down from that little cloud you're still on.

It's Aemond who moves first. He stands and joins Alys, wiping what's left of your desire on her lips with his thumb. He looks satisfied. You wonder if he liked what he saw, if he liked seeing his wife tremble under the caresses of another.  He pushes his thumb between Alys's lips, forcing her to taste you once more, and she sucks his finger with infinite compliance. You can see in their eyes that they know each other intimately, that he has already tasted her body. You can see it in their eyes, in the glances they exchange.  You wonder if there has been more than carnal pleasure. You think there is. He kisses her chastely on the lips.

Aemond looks in your direction. He burns with desire, excitement and anticipation. You are about to become his and he can't hold back any longer. He needs to possess you. 

"She did well," Alys murmurs, amused. "Give her a moment."

But he doesn't want to wait, he wants his wife. He undresses, and that's when Alys comes up behind you. She strokes your hair and whispers a series of praises into the hollow of your ear. You're cottony between her fingers, but your core is throbbing again at the thought of feeling your husband inside you.

"Open your legs," Aemond commands. And Alys gently spreads your thighs so that you reveal yourself to your husband.

Aemond details your body. Every part, from your lips to your breasts, from the valley between your breasts to your navel, and then the curve that leads to your centre. Alys follows the path of his gaze - her fingers on your nipples, and then her fingers running along your abdomen to your folds, caressing them gently.  Her index and middle fingers slide between your flesh.

"Look how ready she is for you," Alys whispers to Aemond. You’re wet. His eyes are locked on you, right where you want him most. His member is hard, slightly curved against his belly, its angry red tip already leaking white beads.

And you are ready. You're just waiting for it. Desperately. The orgasm Alys gave you with her tongue has awakened a new, hungry desire in you.  You stifle a moan that Alys encourages you to express with her lips along your throat. 

Aemond leans over you, capturing your lips with his own. He nibbles at your lower lip. You feel his dominance, his need to own you. He's rough with his kiss, as if he's waited too long. Maybe he has.

You moan. Where Alys' body is soft and full of curves, Aemond's is angular and made of muscle. 

"I want you," he whispers again against your lips. His fingers slide down your body, lingering on your breasts as he caresses your already erect nipples. Then he moves them between your thighs. He's meticulous with his movements. Precise. He traces your slit, spreads your folds to tease your little bud. You stifle another moan.

"And I can tell you want me too."

His fingers are against your entrance, which clenches around nothing as you feel him draw circles without ever entering you. It's frustrating. Slowly, he inserts a finger. You move your hips, desperate for more contact, desperate to welcome him deeper into you.

"Stay still," Aemond whispers, pressing down on your lower body. Behind you, Alys runs her hand through your curls. She strokes your long hair and when you move, she shushes you.

"You'll take what I give you," he adds, his lips against your jaw, his fingers inside you. "But if you are patient, you will be rewarded. I always reward good girls." You feel a slight stretch as a second finger enters you, and the sensation is delicious. Delicious, but not enough. Even when he starts to move his fingers back and forth - they are subtly crooked inside you, even when he traces the curve of your breast with his mouth, catching your nipple between his lips. 

"You're doing well," Alys breathes, praising you. There's her body behind you, and Aemond's lips on your breasts, his fingers buried inside you, deep, and your body is on fire. But it's not enough.

"I'm ready," you moan. "Please."

Behind you, Alys chuckles softly, her chest rising and falling as she senses your desperation, senses your desperate need for more. The impatience of the youth, she thinks - for Aemond is like that, too. Impatient. Impulsive. She had to teach him as well. As Aemond withdraws his fingers and positions himself between your legs, you feel Alys hold your thighs apart. Her fingers are hot against your skin, but there's something soothing about having her against you, around you. Her presence calms the too-rapid beating of your heart - an inevitable form of apprehension at the thought of what is about to happen.

There's something strange about the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with your husband and his lover. It's not what you imagined, and yet you love the feeling of having them both against you. You're safe. You feel safe. The war can't reach you when you're between their bodies - it's a silly thought.

And then, his round tip rubs between your folds, testing your entrance. The contact is hot. When he finally enters you, the stretch catches you off guard, your fingers close in the sheets, then around Alys' arm.

"Fuck. You're tight." Aemond grunts.

The sensation is new and incredible - the slight pain you felt at first quickly dissipates, replaced by pleasure. 

Soon you feel nothing else. Alys' hands leave your legs and move up your body. One hand on your breast, the other at the top of your folds, where she draws slow circles around your pearl.  She knows what she's doing. She knows what she's doing, and so does Aemond. And there they are, both slaves to your own pleasure.

He sets his pace. She sets hers. You know you won't last long; your walls are already beginning to tighten around his member. You feel him so deep inside you, and there's this one spot, this one precise spot that he hits at a steady pace that makes you feel like you're seeing stars.

Soon your husband's movements become sloppy, messy. 

"Fill your wife, Aemond." Alys whispers in a commanding tone, and there's something about hearing her give orders to your husband that sends a wave of warmth through your lower belly. She reaches out her hand, strokes his hair, his cheek. "You need an heir, don't you? So, spill your seed, I know you can." She addresses Aemond, but her honeyed voice echoes in your ears. You shiver, once more. The thought. The thought is -

You feel your release sweep through your body like a wave washing over you. You throw your head back against Alys, who is already kissing you.  Her fingers leave your folds. Aemond brings them to his mouth - he cleans every trace of you that still stains her skin with a hm. It's filthy. It's indecent. But you're too far gone to think about that now. 

All you can think of is Aemond's arms around your waist as he pulls you up so you're sitting on top of him, facing him, his forehead against yours, as he spills his seed deep inside you, white ropes painting your wombs. He holds you against him, his hands on your waist, the grip mean and possessive. You put your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his chest. And he holds you like that, against him, when his member stops throbbing between your inner walls, when he feels his member softening inside you. When you come to your senses, still high from your second release of the evening.

"Now you truly belong to me," he whispers against your lips, and all you can answer is "Yes, I do".

As you lie back, you can still feel the sticky combination of your two fluids dripping between your thighs. But your eyelids are already heavy - your lovemaking has exhausted you. Alys strokes your hair, under Aemond's watchful eye. He's still hesitant, despite what's happened between you - but it's hard for him to be vulnerable.

"You did well," she mutters, but she doesn't know if you can hear her or if you're already asleep. Aemond finally reaches out to caress your face with a gentleness you don't recognise; his thumb against your cheek. He's soft. You look so peaceful, asleep between them.

You are not sure what tomorrow will bring. You are not sure what the future holds. But when you close your eyes, your dreams are made of crowns and sapphires.

Ashes and flames too - but you'd rather forget that. Outside, the war still rages.

[ushiwhacka]

time skip! ushijima wakatoshi + fem! reader | mdni | 1,080 words | established relationship, prone bone, creampie, body worship, it's still summer in my <3

he’s warm underneath you, skin soaked in sun and dusted in salt flakes. slow in the afternoon heat as you lay entangled, knees knocking together, your nose pressed into his neck, fingers massaging his scalp, and his arms loose around you. he smells of sweet coconut and the sea. 

the air sticky and hot, it wraps around you and sinks into your pores. the kind of warmth that feels like melting, blurs the edges of your bodies into one another. 

you’re lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, and wake to a kiss on the crown of your head with the taste of his skin sitting on your lips. he washes the dreams out of your eyes   and zips up your dress. drags his knuckles over your spine then kisses you right at the base do your neck.

and he holds you close, lets you cling onto his arm as you walk along cobblestoned streets. your heels unsteady over slippery stones. watches your every step from underneath knitted brows as you look around and gasp and point out pretty buildings. 

wakatoshi tries to get his fill of you, how you purse your lips in thought while reading the menu, how you turn away, just a little flustered under the weight of deep olive eyes. the expectant look on your face as you shove a fork into his mouth, and he agrees that it’s so good because everything you give him is good. 

he holds your hand in his over the table, squeezes it tighter at the feeling of your foot on his calf. unassuming and batting your eyelashes as you go above his knee, press into the muscle of his thigh. 

he’s even more handsome with his skin a deep bronze, a dusting of pink across his sunburnt nose and the tops of his cheeks. he wears his shirt with the top buttons opened just enough for you to see a peek of the hard planes of his chest. and he looks at you with a strange glow in his eyes, only you, precious and his.

and he doesn’t miss the intention in your voice when you coo his name, “wakatoshi,” drag it out into something of a whine, “you should ask for the check.”

you walk with hands intertwined again. maybe it’s the three piña coladas making your head fuzzy, or maybe he has just spoiled you so horribly, but you decide it’s not enough to just hold him. 

you stomp your feet and tug his arm back. “kiss.” you demand with your neck craned up towards him and eyelashes fluttering. 

there’s something about the way he touches you, the way he rubs the pads of his fingers into your cheeks. ardently. gently. how his mouth slots over yours.

the way he sinks onto his knees in the middle of your hotel room. fiddles with the delicate straps of your heels, presses his lips where the buckle has left an imprint in your skin. then he kisses the back of your knee, the inside of your thigh, the wet spot on your panties.

firm hands trace the back of your legs, grip the fat of your ass. he pulls you forward, buries himself deeper between your thighs, helps you rub your pussy on his face. and gasps turn into silent cries each time his nose catches on your clit. the friction only enough to build your frustration.

“wakatoshi,” it comes out so small, “please. i need you inside me.” he can never resist when you look at him with such pleading eyes, with tears welling up at your lash line. “please, toshi.”

he gives you what you want. always does. 

you whimper into the sheets as he sinks into you. his hand on your lower belly, pulling you up towards him. and even when he’s throbbing inside you, every muscle alight with the need to thrust into you, feel your walls stretch painfully around his girth, he resists. he waits until your body relaxes under him. eager lips drag against your spine and over your shoulder blades, leave searing, open-mouthed kisses up the back of your neck. 

his other arm wraps around your chest, holds you close enough that you can feel the beat of his heart against your back. 

gravelly and dark when he speaks in you ear. “are you alright, darling?”

“no.” your voice breaks. “can you just fuck me already?”

you choke on air your own spit when he pushes into you, when you feel him in the deepest parts of you dripping cunt. it’s new and overwhelming and sends a mess of pleas and prayers scratching up your throat. the tip of his cock sits so snug at your cervix, rubs against it each time he grinds his hips into you. so intentionally slow. 

there’s something about being held so tightly, trapped and helpless in his arms, the raw power of his body pressing into you. the already heavy air feels thicker and you gasp to suck in a breath after each drawn out, squeaky whimper. 

all you can feel is him — the amber of his cologne, the heat of his skin, his breath hot and hitching at the nape of your neck, the salty tinge of his sweat where your tongue lolls out to taste his forearm, low grunts that tingle in your ear and down your spine, the hard muscle where you sink your nails into his flesh.

wakatoshi loses himself in the feeling, in you. there’s something predatory and repressed that overwhelms his senses when he has you limp and trembling underneath him. how you take all of him and keen and whine and beg for more. how your pussy squeezes around him, how it drools all hot and slick when he whispers an “i love you” into the fat of your cheek. whiny and sniffling when you demand he comes inside you.

his chest heaving, he drops his forehead in the dip of your shoulders. listens to the sweet sounds of contented sighs sour into complaints when he even thinks about moving away from you. and he gives you what you want once again, drapes his body over yours and nuzzles into your neck, spoils you with kisses so tender they make you giggle. and he lets you spoil him with your love, wring him and twist him in any way you want. because being wanted by you is the most devastating pleasure he’s ever known.

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[priniya]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 BEFORE US! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ

pairing. ollie bearman x webber!reader.

summary. a drunken encounter leads to a history straight out of rom–com, turning the world of a formula 2 driver upside down.

notes. reader tells ollie the plot of before sunrise. also, reader is said to be ollie’s age (kinda self-indulgent LOL) maybe part 2 of them meeting in spa? 😁

it was eleven in the evening, while you were having a good time on the streets of hungarian capital city. your actions were not exactly responsible as you were there with a friend of yours that you met online a few months ago. also, you weren’t exactly sure how you managed to strain away from your father and oscar. well, alright — there was a possibility that a train, a sweet smile and a promise to be safe were involved.

honestly, you don’t even know how you ended up in that small bar, but in the larger point of view, you were happy that you let lara drag you there. you already had a few drinks in, you were going back to your booth, when you accidentally bumped into a muscular, tall guy, spilling the drink on your white dress.

“shit, i am so, so sorry.” the boy — because you could easily notice that he must’ve been similar to you in age — spoke relatively slowly, probably out of kindness as he couldn’t tell if you were fluent in english or not. some would call it offensive, but you considered it slightly endearing that the boy tried to be as considerate as possible, knowing that not everyone in the world speaks english.

his face fell to your chest for a tenth of a second, a small cough escaping his lips, before his cheeks tinted pinkish from embarrassment that he even let himself be so blatantly disrespectful towards you. what made it even worse was that the once white dress became see-through.

“shit, shit, your dress. i– here, take this.” he stuttered, swiftly taking off his grey hoodie, letting you take a glimpse of his toned stomach for half a second as his shirt rolled up.

people around you two, suddenly stopped existing and maybe the alcohol you’ve consumed that night was at fault — or maybe it was the charming aura around him, but you honestly couldn’t care less. he was the only guy that wasn’t trying to harass you or make your night less fun and definitely more stressful.

“you shouldn’t apologise, it’s all my fault. i wasn’t paying enough attention.” your voice was loud, but yet still soft enough, so only the boy you bumped into could hear you. “i’m yn, my friend lara is there in the corner booth, do you… um, maybe wanna join us? so i can get you a drink for bumping into you?”

it might’ve been a risky move — he could always say no, laugh at you and go away, thinking you were the most embarrassing person in the entire bar. or he could think that you were a pretty cute, interesting girl that he’d like to spend a july evening with. and, fortunately for you, ollie introduced himself with a quick breath of relief (that he didn’t know he was holding), said that he’d love to join you and buy you a drink, but he was there with two other guys and one of the friends’ girlfriend.

so, upon hearing that, as a responsible human being, you… suggested that they should join you as well, because you really felt like getting to know ollie a tad better. upon hearing that he wasn’t there alone, you nodded with a small smile, before suggesting that it’s not really a big deal and that maybe the four of them would like to join you and lara, who wouldn’t have anything against it since she was a social butterfly, loving bigger crowds.

two and a half hour later, you ended up walking down the cobblestone pathway, while your newfound group of friends was a few steps ahead. lara quickly got along with kimi, eliska and gabriele, so you felt less guilty that you got so occupied in the endless conversation with ollie, slowly trailing behind the group. a month or two later, you were told by eliska that she saw the way you and ollie click and made sure you could get along.

you weren’t sure where the six of you were going, budapest was a gorgeous city, but keeping your eyes on bearman was pretty much enough. he had your arm hooked around his as you slightly started to stumble from the tiny gaps in the path. a giggle escaped your mouth as he whispered a really cheesy joke, his lips inches away from your ear. then, your drunken mind thought that you should come clean with the cute boy about why you’re actually in budapest.

“i have a confession.” you started quietly, your words barely above a whisper. ollie let you continue as he simply nodded. if you weren’t tipsy from all the strawberry daiquiris you had at the bar earlier, you would notice how his body tensed slightly, almost as if he was afraid of what you were about to say.

the first thing that came to his mind was that you had a boyfriend somewhere in monaco, while he was really getting a vibe from you that maybe you were interested in getting to know him as much as he wanted to get to know you. just half a second later came the thought that you knew who he was and it was just as awful. he hasn’t been in the spotlight of motorsport for a long time yet, but he was aware of how people’s perception on things change once they realise what he does, and he really, really didn’t want it to be the case with you.

“this is not something i usually tell people on the day i meet them, but you’re so genuine and so, so nice to me.” your words were coming off as rambling, though despite the lump in his throat, the prema driver couldn’t help but think that maybe he could live with the thought of you bumping into him on purpose if he could listen to your cute rambling for a few more minutes. “and i’m really enjoying spending time with you right now, and-and i don’t want you to think that i’m like a liar or something, because i really am not.”

“hey, breathe. whatever it is, i don’t think i’m gonna perceive you as a liar.” his quiet chuckle with a nervous undertone was enough for you to calm down a bit. his hand dropped to yours, squeezing it for a little more reassurance.

“that’s what i’m really hoping for.” you whispered, looking down at your jointed hands, a ghost of smile lingering on your face. “so, there’s this sport you might’ve heard of — or not, honestly if it wasn’t for my dad, i don’t know if i would, but — gosh, i’m sorry i’m rambling again. alright… there’s, um, formula one, right? i guess you know, because it is a big thing in england, i suppose.” oliver nodded once again, a pit in his stomach growing.

“the thing is… i’m in hungary for that exact reason. there was the grand prix this weekend and i came here with my dad, because, um… he’s a manager of, um, one of the drivers. oscar? he won today, yesterday, technically.”

ollie couldn’t believe what he just heard. he was so scared that you were pretending just to boast about hanging out with formula 2 and formula 3 drivers, while you were having an inner turmoil of your own, weighing pros and cons of telling him that you were the daughter of the mark webber. he could see the nervous expression on your pretty face and his heart swelled, knowing that in those two and a half hours of constant chatter he gained so much of your trust to be told that.

for other people it might seem like it was nothing, nevertheless ollie knew how much fake people you must’ve met in your life, who liked you for your father’s achievements and not you. god, for a moment he felt like crying.

“i was there too.” he gave you a shy smile. before you were able to overthink every possible scenario with the worst possible outcome, his smile widened, his hip gently nudging yours. “i’m racing for prema in f2.” he chuckled at your surprised expression.

bearman, as he was a tad more sober than you, could easily notice the weight falling off your shoulders, once you recognised him, quickly replaced by a blush of embarrassment that flooded your cheeks.

“that’s why i thought i’ve seen you somewhere.” you muttered, scrunching your nose, gears in your brain working overtime. “i’m sorry, it’s— i haven’t really been up to date with formula 2. but i remember you from saudi, i wasn’t there, but my dad was really impressed. everything makes sense now, though.”

“no need to be embarrassed or anything, i’m glad neither of us recognized each other. you made me feel like a normal teenager for once.” he grinned down at you, your face matching his as he let go of your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, but you couldn’t really complain.

you didn’t remember the moment, when your night turned into a reenactment of one of your favorite rom-coms — before sunrise. gabriele, kimi and eliska had to go back to their hotels, suspiciously at the same time, when lara’s curfew was coming. it was truly reckless for you to stay out with ollie till your train back to the place your father had rented for the four days stay in hungary. once you were alone, he made sure to keep you close to him at all times, so if an emergency occured, he’d be able to protect you.

“i feel like i’m in a movie.” your admission was soft as you slowly sat down on the grass in the park, the state of your white dress long forgotten as it’d be green once the sun was up.

“a movie you like?”

“my favorite one.” ollie smiled.

“tell me about it.” he suggested, plopping down next to you, uncorking the wine you two bought earlier in one of those 24/7 shops.

“it’s about two people that met on a train going across the europe.” you started explaining, ollie’s free arm slung across your shoulders once again, making you realize what his love language must be. “he’s american and she’s french, once they stop in vienna, he asks her to get off the train with him and walk around the town with him till he has to go to the airport, because it’s his last day in europe. she thinks it’s crazy, but she agrees and they spend the entire night together. nothing kubrick-esque happens there, all of the action happens during their dialogues. they share opinions and stuff. it’s kind of silly, but they end up in a park, too, with wine and stuff.”

“like us.” he commented, his eyes still lingering on your face as they were, while you were skimming over the plot of the movie.

“like us.” you repeated softly.

“so, what do they do in the park?” ollie asked another question, earning himself a small hum from you as you shifted closer, his thumb absentmindedly drawing shapes on your shoulder. your stomach was filled to the brim with butterflies as he asked all the right questions, made all the right moves, giving you all the right smiles.

“they kiss.” a whisper left your lips, tilting your head to get a better view of his face.

“they kiss.” it was the prema’s driver’s time to repeat the short sentence as you just nodded, noticing the way his eyes flickered to your mouth.

sweet silence embraced the two of you as bearman took his chance and leaned forward an inch or two, cautiously testing the waters. when you didn’t pull back, a smile tugged onto his face, before cupping your cheek with his free hand.

however, ollie didn’t kiss you for a moment that felt like eternity. his mouth just hoovered over yours, giving you a chance to back up, to show him that he read the signs wrong, but you didn’t. your eyes locked with his, before his lips were moving against yours in a sweet, gentle and almost tantalising manner. you couldn’t tell how long were you kissing for, but when the two of you finally pulled away, his mouth was tinted with the red shade of your lipstick, both with messed up hair and slightly swollen lips.

it was almost seven in the morning, while you were sitting at the train station with your hand clasped in ollie’s. the silence between you was truly the most comfortable thing in the world at the moment. budapest was slowly waking up in the background as you enjoyed his presence beside you.

“what do they do in the movie before they part ways?” he interrupted the silence.

“they promise to see each other in a six months time in the same place. they don’t exchange numbers or anything, though.” you recalled, wondering where was he going with this.

“and do they? meet, i mean.” he asked, already expecting the answer as you’d told him it was a trilogy.

“not in the set time. she can’t make it to vienna again, because her grandmother dies, but he does.” you nodded. “but they do meet each other again, eight years later, this time in paris.”

“good thing we’re not jesse and celine.” ollie joked, a grin tugging on your lips as you nod in agreement. “i do have your number, and we can see each other in spa on thursday, if you want to.”

“i do.” this time, you were the one to press a gentle kiss on his lips for a brief second as your train arrived. bearman just grinned back at you, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “i’ll see you on facetime then, and in belgium.”

ollie stayed for another five minutes after your train departed. his gaze dropping to the phone in his hand before he quickly sent you a message.

ollie: thank you for making this night amazing for me x

[benedictscanvas]

coat stays on - remus lupin x reader

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: it’s just sickly sickly fluff my loves

a/n: @burnthoneydrops encouraged me to post this weeks ago and honestly i totally forgot about it but she’s wonderful and i can’t deny her!! i hope you enjoy, it’s the first i’ve written for remus so i’m a little conscious of it! i’ve also just opened up requests and you can see the characters i’ll write for here, please send in all the fluffiest fluff your hearts can think of <3

- - -

If your hand was starting to feel a little clammy in the crook of Remus’ arm, you weren’t saying anything. The streets were lined with market stalls and lots and lots of people, more importantly, and you were pretty sure if you let go of him right now you might never see him again.

“Doing alright sweetheart?” he asked, leaning his head down to your ear so you’d hear him properly because the man refused to raise his voice even a little, “Still with me?”

You squeeze him tighter to you and rest your head on his arm briefly rather than answering. The two of you had long since lost the others in the crowd, likely because you weren’t clinging to them as you did Remus. It would make you feel silly if it didn’t make you feel ten times better.

It had been Lily’s idea to venture out into the Sunday markets in town, but she clearly hadn’t thought about the timing. Just days before Valentine’s Day and it was packed, almost shoulder to shoulder as you traversed the street. But the 5pm February darkness had enveloped the cobblestones and most of the stalls had decided to illuminate their wares with pretty fairy lights on strings, wrapped around the poles. All kinds of colours. There was a helter skelter a little ways down that was lit up in warm gold.

Despite struggling with the sheer volume of people, Lily had been right that it would be something you’d enjoy.

Remus steers you towards a stall with a blue and white striped roof, filled with fudge of every flavour you can think of. He’s quiet as he stares at them all in turn, but when his eyes land on your favourite, you watch him smile and point it out to one of the sellers.

“That’s not fair,” you murmur, nudging him with a sharp elbow, but either he doesn’t hear you or he ignores you. To get your own back, you signal to the other seller and ask for Remus’ favourite in return.

“Here we are,” he says, handing you the paper bag once you’re a little away from the stall. You’re smug as you hand him one right back. He looks inside before he pouts at you and its adorable. He’s adorable.

“Thank you,” you grin and he rolls his eyes but still thanks you back. Then he points over your shoulder, where the buskers are playing, to the little tables for resting shoppers. There’s an empty one. The two of you share a brief look before you scurry over to claim it. When you sit across from him, you have to let go of his arm and it feels all wrong.

Until, of course, he shuffles his chair around the table so you’re sitting next to each other instead, facing the band.

You’re both content to nibble on your respective fudge for a while, listening to the music, but Remus breaks the comfortable quiet.

“I’m sorry we lost the others,” he says, face close to yours in a way that makes your chest ache, “I know you and Lily were looking forward to this together.”

He’s right in one way, because you were. But it was also inevitable that you’d only get half of Lily’s evening and that James would get the other, something you were thrilled about, honestly, if it meant that during that other half you got Remus.

You couldn’t quite tell him that, yet, so you settled for the next best thing.

“Sirius was in one of his moods,” you shrug, “I think we’ve come out of this one on top.”

Remus doesn’t laugh. You find it quite hard to make him laugh and you used to be conscious of it. You’ve since found that the little smile he does towards his lap is even more gratifying, like he’s holding in a belting laugh out of something that looks like fondness.

He’s doing it now, bottom lip caught by his teeth.

“Right as always,” he muses, looking back up at you, soft as ever. You struggle to keep the awe from your face.

“I am often right,” you whisper back, breaking off another chunk of fudge and popping it into your mouth, “It’s really pretty here at night. Shame about the people.”

“They’re awful, aren’t they?” Remus says, only joking a little, “Although, I’d rather you didn’t come here at night when no one’s around, hm?”

You nudge him again just because you can. He catches your elbow as if punishing you but all he does is run his hand down from your forearm to your hand to see if you’re cold.

“Mr Protective, you are. As if I’d want to come here on my own, idiot.”

“You’re cold,” he says instead, mutters it like he’s talking to himself as he squeezes both your hands in his own. You wonder if he even heard you call him an idiot like he was your favourite person on the planet.

“It’s an evening in February, lovely, of course I’m cold.”

You watch his pink-tinged cheeks to see if the blush deepens at your best name for him, but you can’t tell if it’s just from the chill in the air. He starts unbuttoning his coat, leaning forward in the chair to take it off.

“Woah, slow down there Rem,” you insist, holding your hands out to him to stop him, “I am fine. Since when do you worry about me so much?”

He doesn’t answer straight away but he does put his arm back into his coat. He’s thinking about what to say, something you’ll always let him do, but it means he’s going to answer seriously. It’s worrying when you’d just been teasing him.

“I always worry about you, I think. Absentmindedly. Wondering if you feel alright, if you’re comfortable. You haven’t looked very comfortable this evening.”

He doesn’t lie to you, ever, but you’re pretty sure that’s the most honest Remus has ever been with you. He can’t even look at you either, just staring at the floor and scuffing his shoe against the chair leg.

“Remus…”

“I don’t like you cold. And I don’t like to think of you alone. Sorry. I know you don’t need looking after like that.”

And he sounds heartbroken enough to break your heart.

“No, I don’t need looking after,” you confirm softly, because it’s true. He’s always said you’re the most independent person he knows. But you still wind your arm through his and tug him into your side, “I’d quite like it if it’s you, though, I think. If you’ll let me return the favour.”

It’s always the returning that he’s not so adept with. Your affection and your time and your energy are all things he struggles to see he deserves. It’s mostly why you worry about him too.

“Don’t take your coat off for me though,” you warn, putting your head on his shoulder, “You idiot.”

This time he definitely hears you and he must hear how utterly smitten that word is. He’s your idiot. He has to know it by now.

“Okay. Coat stays on,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss to your crown and then place his chin there, gentle as ever, “Also, I lied. I’m very glad we lost the others, by the way. Not sorry at all.”

So maybe he did lie to you sometimes. It was a lie you didn’t mind, even if you’d pretend to.

“Yeah? Why’s that now?”

He slowly nods his head until his nose is nuzzling you instead of his chin, and you feel another feather light kiss, this one near your ear.

“Like you lots. Even more than them,” he breathes, and you try not to melt into him then and there.

“Oh lovely,” you whisper, “Like you lots too.”

[yeyinde]

coorie | John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader

He pants against your mouth, and you can feel the stretch of his grin—a languorous, satiated smile like the sunrise in the winter. All dark, endlessly so, and then suddenly— Johnny feels like dusk. The first breach of the morning over the lands; a sleepy haze of light eating into the tenebrose that shrouds everything around you. A steak of ochre, gold, in a world of darkness; the varicoloured smear of pastel clouds breaking over the horizon. 

Being with him is a little bit like cupping the sun in the palm of your hand. 

warnings: soft!Soap, super soft smut, fluff, domestic bliss, two idiots being drunk off of each other; female gendered anatomy, female!reader; very little substance just pure fluff

word count: 4k

notes: coorie is a cuddle in Scots and that's the cutest thing to me. we just have cwtsh. also, you can't look me in the eye and tell me this man ISN'T the little spoon.

The scent of wych elm and smoked cedar fill the back of your throat when you breathe in. The cloying richness tickles your nose; the heft of it is familiar, heady. Your head—fuzzy and thick from sleep—swims with the visceral sense of comfort that settles deep in your lungs when you pull it in. You know this smell. 

(Have a piece of it tucked under your pillow.

Did you see where my shirt went? The one I got from Aubin? I went runnin' in it this mornin', hen. Can't find it anywhere.

Maybe it's in the wash. 

Aye, maybe. 

You shoved it under the one he used, tucked it there for those nights that never seemed to end; when you always found yourself missing him the most.

Your secret to keep.)

You're caught in the middle of sleep and wakefulness; a purgatory where the world does not yet exist outside of the soft sheets dragging over your skin. Torn between the dream you were having that is still within reach (the taste of alder on your tongue, a hand across your pulse), and the cognisance that seeps inside: the birds outside of the window chittering, the cars driving across wet cobblestone, honking in the distance. 

And then—

There is a weight on you that—like the smell— doesn't belong. 

You'd gone to bed alone. Have done so for months now. The only company you keep is just the shirt, whose enticing scent has long since faded. 

You feel it, now. 

A weight. A presence. Something notches on your shoulder, a blunt pressure digging into your neck—a heaviness securing you to the bed, locked over your chest, and across your thighs. 

Your blankets could never be so firm, so warm. 

The dream slips into the recesses of your mind when your eyes crack open. A little sliver. The world bathed in bright gold. 

A rasp of something gritty and sharp scratches over the soft flesh below your shoulder, above the swell of your breast. The graze of it makes you smile. Makes you lull your head to the side until your nose meets wry curls that tickle your lips. 

You breathe him in. Sweat. Aged wood. 

He must have snuck in sometime during the night. 

(Finally, finally—)

The world resumes in pieces. The top of his brown hair under your eyes, his face nestled into the crook of your neck, soft plumes of humid breath on your throat, his grip over your ribs. Thighs tangled together. 

Like this, with your head dazed and spooled with the gossamer of somnolence, you can't begin to know where he ends and you begin. You merge together. A mess of limbs, heavy and thick with the scent of sleep. Warm milk. Honey. 

Johnny sleeps like a child. Always grasping out, reaching for you. He clings to you; body wrapping around yours as if he was trying to merge atoms. 

He might be. Johnny is a cuddler. The kind that sticks to you like glue, and refuses to let go. 

A slow, languid smile curls on your lips. Your arm laid on the pillow he's supposed to be using lifts, and falls gently to the top of his head. Nails rake through the coarse hair, scratching his scalp. His shorn sides are a little longer than you remember it, tufts of hair the same length as your fingernail. He'll need a haircut. 

You follow the trail of his mohawk, sliding down the nape of his neck, the knob of his spine. Real. Solid. 

You'll never tell him, but when he's gone, you often dream of him at night. The sweetness of it carries into the morning where it's ground into pain when you remember he's gone. When your fingers slide through the sheets in search of the man who isn't there, and meet the cold, barren emptiness across from you. 

He never sleeps in his spot, anyway. Always somehow wrapped around you instead. 

But this—

Waking up to the smell of him thick in your nose, the taste of him on your fingertips—it's the closest to heaven you think you'll ever get. 

At your touch, Johnny moans, low and rough. The sound drenched in sleep, and needy. A heat—soft, fluttering—spumes in your belly. The weight of his knee pressing into your hip bone makes you take a sharp, deep breath. 

It's been too long since his skin touched yours. Since the heat of him seeped to your marrow. 

Your nails dance down his spine, relishing the feel of his hard muscles under your palm. Johnny makes another noise—a soft husk, full of sleepy longing—and it goes straight to your core. His body flexes, coiling over you. He snuggles in deeper, as if that was even possible. But you know Johnny. 

Any gap, any space, between your bodies will be sought after and conquered. 

His nose pushes into your pulse point, stubble chafing your skin. The weight of him is solid. Comforting. Johnny's hand curls around your ribs. You melt into his embrace. Soft, gummy. He's sickly sweet—your gruff military man.

His knee stretches when he moves, his hip nudging into you. 

He's naked. You feel the thickness of him twitching against your side. Wetness leaks, dampens your skin. 

You burrow your face into his crown, and catch the scent of gunfire and polymer that clings to the tips of his cropped hair. 

He didn't even shower. Stripped down, sleepy and jetlagged, and slipped into your bed. 

Nails rove over his broad shoulders until you're locked into some parody of a hug. You feel the heft of his bicep beneath your hands. The weight of his burning flesh over your body. Clad in only panties and a loose top, you feel the fever billowing inside of you. 

There is something intimate about waking up next to someone nude. A stark thing that settles in your ribs, clotting in the brackets between them. 

The flavour of vulnerability. Touches of domesticity. It leaks into your marrow, bringing with it something soft and tender. 

Illicit. 

It brims up. Buoying to the surface. A low-grade fever itching under your skin. The blunt press of his hard, leaking cock on your skin is nothing short of enticing. 

Your thighs part as much as they're able to with his weight on you, hand slipping out from under the pillow. You take a moment to run your fingers over his forearm, nestled snugly under your breasts. The weight of him makes your chest flutter. Heart seizing when he squeezes you tight to him. 

The coarse hair of his thigh on your navel feels good under your palm. Muscular. He told you once when he brought you to a football game that he used to play. Still does when he has the time. A group of his old schoolmates on a rare Saturday when everyone is around. 

You can feel it in the thick bulk of him. Years of practice, training. 

But now—

It's in the way. 

His thigh is too thick for you to slip your hand over. 

Your core throbs. The sticky press of his hard cock against you does little to abate the ache growing inside. 

A huff spills from your lips. His hair flutters. Another noise spills from deep within his chest when you push at his leg, trying to slip it down lower so you can sink your fingers into your aching pussy. 

It doesn't work. He tucks himself closer to you, and rocks his hips into yours. 

A wry twist of your lips. At least someone is getting off. 

You try again, wriggling. 

He moves, pulls his hand out from where it's caught between the bed and your chest, running his warm, rough palm over your skin.

The movement makes you pause, hand falling still on his knee. You went to bed late last night, having stayed up watching trashy television until the early hours. He must have snuck in sometime after. 

Your eyes skirt to the clock on the wall. It's barely mid-morning. 

He needs sleep. 

Did you wake him—?

He dips under the hem of your cropped sleep shirt, and cups your breast in his palm. 

"Johnny—," you breathe, just barely a whisper.

He groans low. Flashes fan over your collarbones. "Couldn't wait for me?" 

His accent is thick in the morning, groggy and flooded with sleep. You shiver, hips lifting slightly off the bed. You're stopped, of course, by the weight of him. 

"You took too long," you murmur, panting into his hair. 

He grumbles; the noise reverberates through his chest. "Sorry, bonnie. Got my girl all worked up. Needy for it."

His fingers brush over your nipple. The flash of pleasure makes your toes curl, his name leaves your mouth in a breathless plea. 

"I know, I know…" he husks into your neck. "I'll take care'a ya, bonnie." 

"Wanna make you feel good—"

"Nah, dove. Just be a good girl for me, aye?"

"Johnny—"

His fingers rub your nipple until your peak hardens, pinched softly between his thumb and forefinger. His cock presses into you—little cants of his hip that make you burn for it. 

It's been so long. 

Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulder. "Please, baby, I can't take it—"

His laugh huff across your neck. "Needy little thing."

His thigh slides off your waist before you can snap something back, lips pressing to your pulse. It makes your breath catch when you feel the graze of his warm mouth, his tongue; it laves over your skin, carrying the flash of teeth. A tease, a nip. Between the burn from the stubble, and the soft bites to your skin, your neck will soon be a mosaic of his devotion. 

Your thighs part, desperation pooling inside of you with each brush of his warm, calloused fingers over your nipple. You want it, ache for it—

"Fuck, bonnie." His hips rut into you, cock so hard you think it might bruise your flesh. It leaks prespend over your skin until you're tacky with it. 

Your mouth waters. You wonder if he'll taste of the beach—

Your head lulls, nose nuzzling his crown. "Wanna taste you later, baby. Missed having your cock in my mouth—"

"Steamin' Jesus, bonnie—," it's bitten off in a moan. A desperate rut. His fingers spasm over your breast. "Cannae say shite like that when I haven't had this pretty mouth in months —"

"You should learn to be quicker with the missions then." 

His teeth sink into your neck, and you sputter, thighs snapping shut to stem the deep ache.

Johnny's tongue snakes out, laving over the indents left behind by his teeth. "I come home to you as quickly as I can, bonnie."

Your voice is barely a whisper. "I know." 

He groans into your neck when he moves, his hand slipping out from under his body, and resting on the pillow. His head raises, your eyes meet. Golden honey, rich and thick and full of want, gazes at you from under heavy lids. 

His smile feels like the dawning sun curving over the horizon. A flash of teeth. His forehead drops, presses to yours. Noses brushing. You breathe in him. 

"Hey," he murmurs against your lips, the barest touch. "I missed ya, hen." 

Your hands curl over his shoulders, knees parting to let him closer. A smile, soft and gentle, pulls on the corners of your mouth. "Hiya. Missed you, too."

He ruts into the seam of your thighs, heavy cock sliding over your clothed cunt. "God, bonnie. Thought about ya always. Couldn't get you outta my head." 

"You say that every time you come home."

His head ducks down, muzzling his stubble against your cheek. You feel the press of teeth under your jaw. "An' I mean it every time."

"I'm already gonna fuck you, babe. No need to try and charm me into it," you taunt, nails raking softly down is back. A tickle. A tease. His hips jerk into yours, a groan slipping from his lips. 

"Charm? Oh, bonnie—," his voice is rich caramel, thick and sweet in your ear. "I'm just fuckin' crazy for ya, cariño."

You huff. "Cariño? That's new." 

"Sí, mi corazón." 

Your brows raise. "I love how even when speaking a completely different language, you still sound incredibly Scottish."

"Aye," he nips your chin again. "You can take the Scot out of Scotland, but you can't—"

Your mouth presses to his, catching teeth. "Just shut up and fuck me, already, Johnny."

His mouth captures yours, tongue delving into it with a groan. He tastes of thistle. Your breath comes out in sharp pants against his cheek. 

Your hand slides down his arms, reaching under to tug at your panties. When he feels you move, he laughs low in his throat, lips clumsily glued to yours. 

"Gonna pull 'em to the side for me? That desperate, mi reina?"

"Very," you breathe, eyes lidded and heavy. "I only had my fingers, you know." 

He looks good like this—bathed in the gentle sunlight, sunkissed from his adventure in Mexico—and leaning over you, eyes hungry. Right where he belongs. 

"Yeah?" He rasps, swallowing thickly. His hand follows the path set by your own, fingers curling under your knee. "Was it good, bonnie? Did you fuck yourself senseless and think of me?"

"It was good," you whine, back arching when his cock brushes your wet cunt. The head taps against your clit. "But it wasn't you." 

"Gotta give my girl a proper pounding then, aye?"

"Yes," you hiss, eyes fluttering when he takes his cock in hand, and thrusts it through your drenched folds. "I want it, Johnny."

"Push 'em to the side, bonnie. I need to be in your cunt, now."

Whimpering, your fingers hook on the gusset of your damp panties, pulling them back. Opening yourself for him, and desperate for it. 

"Wanna fuck you proper later on," he rasps, his cock nudging against your cunt. "But I can't wait, dove. Fuck, the things you do to me—"

You're not wet enough for it to be seamless, but it's been months since you felt him split you apart, and the burn, the sting, of him stretching you open all over again makes your toes curl. It rides the edge of indelible pain and pleasure; an amalgam of being both excruciatingly good and too much all at the same time. Overwhelming. Perfect.

Your legs hook on his thighs when he nudges the head of his cock inside of you, opening yourself wider for him to take. 

He breathes out your name on a shuddered rasp that makes your cunt clench, pulsing with the delirious ache of having him within you once more. Hair dampened with sweat, his upper lip is slick when he presses his mouth to you; you taste salt on your tongue when he licks into your mouth. Your hands roam his back when he pushes in deep, flushed against you. 

"Gonna move, coriño;" he slurs into your mouth, eyes fluttering shut. "Can you take it?"

"Give it to me, Johnny."

Before Johnny, you'd never known fucking could be so intense when it's slow; just languid rolls of his hips, his mouth fixed on yours, devouring you. It's not rushed: he isn't fucking you as hard as he can. It's—

Tender. Sweet. 

Johnny fills you deep, the head of his cock nudging something inside of you that has your nails digging into his shoulders, whimpering against his mouth. The slow drag of his cock sliding out of you has your walls singing from the blunt pressure. The torturously deep thrust back in, hips jerking lazily into yours. It all pools together, an endless coil of pleasure that makes you moan, that has you panting into his ear, begging him for more. 

The equinox of it all comes when he rests his forehead back on yours, noses pushed together. There is no space between you—face to face, chest to chest—and he ruts into you like this, his eyes molten suns, nearly blinding, as they gaze at you. 

Johnny makes you melt. Makes your veins pool with liquid bliss, your core tightening with each sharp thrust against your gummy walls, and every slow drag out until only the tip remains. He hits deep, fills you completely, and it's good—it's so good —but it's this you can't get enough of. 

The way he covers your whole body with his, tucked into every corner and crevasse until all you can see and feel is him. He shares your breath; each exhale is his inhale. Eyes fixed on you; dark lashes fluttering when you tighten around him. 

These moments with Johnny make your head spin—a realm carved out where only the two of you exist; where you meld together and become one entity feasting off of the other. 

His cock, heavy and fat inside of your pussy. Your hands running along his back. His mouth sealing over yours, panting deep and ragged until all you can taste and smell is him. Until all you can see is the caramel depths that gaze at you—love in liquid; flecks of affection in gold. His pupils blown wide from pleasure, nearly eclipsing the stunning brecciated hazel. His lids lower, cresting in euphoria.

He's close—you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, his back trembles; in the sloppy way he fucks into you, mouthing along your lips. Lost in a white haze of pleasure, and too drunk on the way you tighten around him to notice. 

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades when his thrusts become choppy, harder. Legs spread wider to take him, ankles crossing over his tailbone. You melt into the sweat-slicked sheets, body liquifying with each snap of his hips. 

His chin rakes over your cheek, stubble grating against the skin. He murmurs apologies into your ear, tongue dipping out to taste the mess he made of you. 

"M'so fuckin' close, hen," he slurs into your temple, the bulk of his upper torso sliding over you. You're trapped under him, forehead pressed into the column of his throat as he bends your knees to your chest. "Fuck—!"

The light catches on the gold chain around his neck. The cross swinging like a pendulum between you. It draws your eye, and fills your chest with a deep spume of inexorable affection. Something so mundane, but so him; a little thing he always carries, keeps with him. A little piece of familiarity after months of loneliness. 

Seeing it outside of just a bittersweet dream brings tears to your eyes. 

You missed him. The heavy cedar scent, the way he kisses you like he can't get enough of the taste, how he clings to you at night, glueing himself to you in a futile effort to merge together into one being, his stupid haircut—

"Fuck," you choke, head full of nothing but him. "I missed you so much—"

"Me, too, hen," he groans into your crown, fucking deep into you. "Fuck, bonnie. I need you to cum for me. Need to feel you cumming on my cock—"

His words congeal inside your core, pleasure rippling from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers that you bury inside his flesh. The thick heft of him makes you dizzy, makes you feel that tight coil pulling taut with each sloppy thrust he makes against it. 

His body sags into you, head burrowing into your neck. The grind of his pelvis against your clit as you spasm around him, clenching tight as he works you up toward nirvana, rutting deep, and breathing heavy into your collarbones. Glued, once more, to you. 

Johnny holds you steady, firm. His whole body cresting over yours, and keeping you locked to bed. Under him. Sheltered from harm. From the ugliness he keeps at bay. 

My hero, you once whispered to him playfully in a pub when you first met. Coy and teasing and high of the confidence that comes with a gorgeous man looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel it, now, nestled deep inside of your chest. Your hero, finally home. 

It's the soft chants of your name, the choked-out confessional about how much he missed you, thought of you all the way on the opposite side of the globe, and now that he has you, it feels like heaven. How you have Nirvana nestled between your soft thighs, and he can't get enough of it. Of you. He's drunk off the taste. 

It's a slow ascent with Johnny. Never rushed, never hurried. He takes you like he's savouring you, like he'll never have the chance to again. 

(On your first date, he took you hiking.

And years later, it still feels like you're climbing a mountain.)

A slow, lazy incline. A soft, feathery descent. 

"M'goin' crazy fer ya, cariño—," he pushes in deep, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. His voice is shattered, broken. The fractures in his words, the hard roll of his hips pressing down on your clit, all push you over the edge. Head full of that white pleasure that dances in front of your eyes like little galaxies in the cosmos. 

The pulse of your cunt around him makes his hips grind into yours, cock twitching as he spills himself inside of you. A low moan slips from his reddened lips, and he stifles it when he catches your mouth, sharing it with you. 

(It tastes of sugared milk and cinnamon.)

He stays like that for a moment, hips rocking against you as rides himself through, your pussy clenching around him, milking him for everything—every drop. 

Thistle heavy on your tongue, his moan nestled in your throat—it feels a bit like waking up again. A yawning crest into wakefulness. A slow roll into cognisance. 

He pants against your mouth, and you can feel the stretch of his grin—a languorous, satiated smile like the sunrise in the winter. All dark, endlessly so, and then suddenly—

Johnny feels like dusk. The first breach of the morning over the lands; a sleepy haze of light eating into the tenebrose that shrouds everything around you. A steak of ochre, gold, in a world of darkness; the varicoloured smear of pastel clouds breaking over the horizon. 

Being with him is a little bit like cupping the sun in the palm of your hand. 

His eyes slide open—a slow, shuddering roll—and you see morning dew in the whites; golden rays in the hazel. There are shadows, proof of a hard-earned victory, but he is not the type to let it linger. 

(You're not the type to let him.)

Sleepy, dazed from pleasure, he grins again. Nose pressed to yours, heart thundering against your chest. 

"M'not leavin' again for a while, now," he breathes into your lips, nose sliding across yours. He nuzzles his cheek your raw flesh, already scratched from his stubble. His voice is naked bliss when murmurs: "and I intend to stay inside this pretty cunt all day."

You huff, head listing as you let him smother your cheek and neck in affectionate kisses, nips. "You need a shower. You smell like Price. And sweat."

Teeth to your pulse. "And sex. Your sweet pussy—"

"You need a haircut."

"Thought you wanted me to grow it out."

You pretend to consider, hands sliding from his back to the nape of his neck. "I want something to pull."

"You can." 

"It's too short." 

He's shaking his head, temple knocking into your chin. "Nah, you can still pull. You can steer me later when my face is buried in your—"

"Is that why you came home?" You tease, curling a lock of his hair around your fingers. "Surely there were pretty girls in Mexico."

His head lifts. Rising suns, molten honey, meet yours. "Nah, got the prettiest hen squeezing my cock right now."

"God," you huff, walls fluttering around him with each gentle movement he makes. "You're incorrigible." 

"M'a man starved. Kept away from my girl for too long." 

His words are teasing, but his eyes—

Your breath catches, and stutters in your chest. "Johnny."

"Can't get enough of ya, hen." He confesses, words muttered into your chin. "Don't plan on lettin' you go. Ever."

"You won't ever need to." 

His smile feels like coming home. "You can bet on that."

His hand reaches under the pillow, eyes playful. "Now, about you stealin' my shirts…"

Your cheeks heat when he pulls it out. "How did that get there?"

"You're a cheeky little thing, ain't you?"

You place your hand on his chest, lashes fluttering. Coy. Kittenish. "I just miss you sometimes, is all." 

His eyes are pockets of slate, chiselled deep with a heart-wrenching affection that blisters through you. "Oh, hen."

Open, raw. He descends on you, mouth catching yours. Kissing him is always intense, always—

He pulls away. A flash of teeth. A smirk. 

"But stop taking my good ones at least."

[danikamariewrites]

could i request one with rhys x reader where he is so incredibly in love with her it’s ridiculous. He is such a simp for her, she literally only has to ask and he gets her anything she wants. one day she jokes about him being very generous and says

” i’m sure if i ask for a golden pony, you’ll find a way”

next day he’s visiting Helion and asks for a golden pony.

The ic even makes fun of how much he simps for reader. One day they’re all walking in velaris to go to ritas and readers strap on her heel slips. Rhys gets on his knees to fix it with no hesitation. The inner circle looks at him with incredible shock and their jaws are dropped. Bc in acomaf it says that he has sacred tattoos on his knees and will never bow for no one and nothing but his crown. it’s the first time they ever see rhys on his knees for someone. Reader doesn’t know ab it and just says thank you and they continue walking. After a while he confesses to her and she feels the same and live happy forever 😁😁

Only For You

Rhys x reader

A/n: this is so freakin cute and writing this had me kicking my feet giggling

Warnings: none

You and Rhys had grown up together, so his kindness and generosity was nothing new to you. Whenever you needed or even just wanted something Rhys would get it for you. New shoes? Done, he knows what style you like. Need new clothes? He has your size and his tailor knows exactly what to make you.

You had always insisted on paying you back but he never let you. Rhys would always say, “Nonsense y/n. I like biting you things so please let me get this for you.” You’d breathe out a sigh of defeat and cup his cheek. “Thank you Rhys. I swear if I asked for a golden Pegasus you’d find me one.”

Rhys cherished your warm touch. He loved your soft skin and how gentle you are with him. The High Lord was so clearly in love with you but he was too afraid to admit it. If Rhys lost you as a friend because of his feelings he doesn’t know how he’d go on.

And he didn’t forget about that golden Pegasus. It was your 450th birthday present and you named her Sunny.

Tonight you were all headed to Rita’s to unwind after a busy work week. Mor had teased you about Rhys while you got ready together. “He’s completely and utterly in love with you! How can you not see he is wrapped around your finger.”

You had just rolled your eyes and laughed at your friend. “We’ve been friends for centuries Mor. Rhys would’ve said something by now. I just have to deal with that.” Deep down you were mad,y in love with Rhys. You just kept telling yourself he didn’t feel the same way. It made everything easier. You two were just friends after all.

Walking to Rita’s you and Cassian were hanging on each other crying laughing at something Mor said about Amren. Your heel caught in a crack of the cobblestone, causing the strap of your shoe to come undone. “Oops, hold on a second, my shoe.”

The group stopped as you lifted your dress a little to asses the damage. Before you could fix it, Rhys was on his knees looking up at you with a small smile. “I got it for you darling.”

His fingers gently grazed your ankle, sending a shiver up your body. You watched as Rhys carefully buckled the strap around your ankle again. Without thinking he caressed your calf and looked up at you. You swear you saw hearts in his eyes.

You run your fingers through his soft raven locks, bringing your hand down to caress his face, holding his chin. Giving it a small squeeze you say, “Thanks Rhys.” Mor giggles and takes your arm, pulling you ahead of the boys.

Cassian and Azriel stare at their brother with their jaws on the ground. Rhys stands, brushing off his pants. “I thought you said-“ Cassian started. Rhys cut him off, “Only for my equal.” Cassian didn’t think it was possible but he felt his jaw unhinge more at Rhys’s confession.

Rhys started to follow you and Mor while Cassian stood frozen. Azriel came up next to him closing his mouth and patting him on the back. “I can’t believe I knew before you.” He said with a smug look on his face.

When you woke up the next morning something felt different. You felt a light in your chest, pulling you out of your room.

Getting ready you follow that pull down the hall all the way to Rhys’s office. You find him sitting in his armchair, seemingly contemplating something. You felt nervousness radiating off him. Not only could you hear his heartbeat, but you swore you felt it in your own chest.

Pausing, you place your hand over your heart. You slowly approach him. Resting a hand on his shoulder Rhys leans back into the cushioned seat, placing his hand over yours. Rhys looked up at you with a hope on his beautiful face. The light of the fire in the hearth before him highlighting his high cheekbones and perfect jawline.

Closing your eyes you took a chance and reached out down that new glowing bond. Towards Rhys. Towards unconditional love. Rhys gripped your hand tighter as he let out a shaky breath.

Opening your eyes you found Rhys’s line with silver. You blinked your own tears away as you looked at him with adoration. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered. “I said I’d never bow before anyone or anything but my crown. That changed when I found you, my equal in every sense of the word.”

Rhys pulled you onto his lap. “I love you too Rhys,” you whispered back, “I’ll share that crown with you for the rest of our lives.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: M6 get temporary amnesia

~ the sequel >:3. for headcanon purposes, the scenario remains the same: your beloved slipped on a cobblestone and hit their head. they retain basic functioning but don't remember you, and need a week of healing to recover ~

Julian

Here is what he knows: he woke up with 0 recollection of what happened and how he got here, and an irresistible stranger is treating him like he's worthy of love and taking care of him

He's about to break his own record for how quickly he can fall in love. He doesn't know when last someone treated him this well

You, on the other hand, can feel your heart cracking slightly every time you interact with him

The adoration in his eyes when he looks at you is missing the settled confidence of a secure relationship. He's desperate for your affection, but beneath the neediness is a deep unease

You've become accustomed to a Julian that doesn't ask constantly for a kiss because he knows you'll always give him one. This one asks, takes, and then winces like he expects to be shut out

The afternoon three days in when he tearfully tried to pack up with nowhere to go so he couldn't burden you didn't help at all

Tripping over himself to dote on you however he can, partly out of love, but mostly to convince you he's worth keeping around

Might laugh at his own misery when his memories return

Asra

You've gotten all kinds of looks from them over the course of your relationship, but this is the first time they've ever looked ... wary

Grateful for your help, sure, appreciative for the lodging and food and care, of course, and plenty friendly

And completely, entirely distrustful

He doesn't know you. He doesn't know your motives. He doesn't know what you want. Even after observing you enough to realize that you really are acting out of love, you still terrify him

Because their own traitorous heart is rioting to let down every wall and ignore every instinctive guard to be close to you again, to be themself around you, even to give of themself to you

Faust's ongoing confusion and the effects of your bonded hearts serve to both ground and unsettle him, even after learning why

They aren't mean at all - if anything, they act like a close friend - but they sleep separately from you, avoid general touch, and get antsy after sharing a space with you for longer than a couple hours

You know his memories are back when he's suddenly pulling you into a hug, so grateful that you could love him like he's loved you

Nadia

She knows she's missing memories and she's not happy about it

Yes, you woke her up, and yes, she can tell that she can trust you, and yes, she's excited at the possibility of finally having found her person. However -

She is apparently a COUNTESS and that is not something to take lightly. Clearly, there is a lot of work to do. As eager as she is to bond with you, she expects you to prove yourself worthy of it

Fill her in on her job. Assist her with whatever proves challenging with her regular work. Tell her what she needs to know to succeed

And don't push her boundaries. She's stressed and will ice you out

Even as she's frustrated with her dependence on someone she doesn't know, she's quietly relieved for your companionship and support. She'd much rather have you than nobody

So tell her about yourself. Use your shared meal times to answer her questions, let her interview you until she does know you well enough to be at ease around you

Slightly embarrassed about her behavior when her memories return. She'll apologize for it by spoiling you nonstop

Muriel

There's no nice way to put it. He's terrified of you at first

When he first opens his eyes, he's injured enough to make fighting difficult, he's in a hut in the middle of nowhere, and his only source of information is the person who brought him here - you

For all he knows, you could have been the person who hurt him enough to trap him, you could be keeping him captive for your own entertainment, you could be lying to him about who he is

Something in his gut tells him it's been done to him before

But as another day or two passes, he quickly realizes you're an exception. He knows how to observe and read people, and you truly care about him. He still hates touch, though

He doesn't know what madness possessed you to feel that way, but he doesn't take your feelings and actions lightly either

You're about to be on the receiving end of a scary amount of unquestioning loyalty, without the stability of a trusting, secure relationship to temper it

So relieved when his memories come back. He's a whole new level of trusting with you now that he knows what you'd do for him

Portia

It's gut wrenching to watch your partner for life open her eyes and the first words out of her mouth be "hey cutie, what's your name?"

Somehow, it's even worse when her response to your crestfallen face is to pull you into a hug, warm and comforting and yet distant with the politeness of trying to help a stranger

As soon as she starts asking questions and you tell her what happened, she's determined to make things right

That's okay if she doesn't remember, you're here to tell her! Not to mention how excited she is to find out that she's already bagged the attractive stranger who's been showing her so much love

So full of wide-eyed wonder for the life you two had built together. Tell her everything, show her your daily routines, share the inside jokes, take her to your favorite date spots

Still not comfortable with physical affection beyond cheek kisses

Flirts with you nonstop anyways. You're strung between her optimism, her clear affection for you, her relational distance from you, and the knowledge that it isn't what it was. It's sweet agony

Covers you in kisses while she sobs when her memories return

Lucio

A. Pain. In. The. Ass - Neck.

The thing that makes the life he has with you so wonderful now is the fact that he shares it with you. You make him want to be a better person. You make a bedroll safer than a suite

But when he doesn't remember you? Everything about the life you've built together is distasteful to him at first

What do you mean, you don't own a house? He's this much of a grown up and still living the nomadic lifestyle of his early twenties?

Sure, you're cute, and the part of him deep down that craves and appreciates your love keeps drawing him back to you, but he'd always thought he'd end up with someone rich and powerful

You're just a journeyman. The magic is cool, but still - really?

Keeps trying to wander off and make reckless, selfish decisions and handing the responsibility to you. If you didn't want him to blow your budget on caviar, why'd you give him the coin purse?

Gets so uncomfortable with the conscience he has around you

Doesn't have many words when his memories return. He just wants to hold you tight and apologize until he can make up for it all

[disneyprincemuke]

the kind of book you can't put down

alternatively: do you want me or not? (prev)

in which the thought of settling down and being with her scares him more than anything in the world, but he can’t seem to steer away from the thought of ‘them’

(series masterlist)

so maybe logan fucked up. did he mess this all up for him and the potential love of his life? he's sitting across the dinner table, head down to feign his attention on his phone screen but his eyes are on her and the random guy that joined them for dinner.

he kissed her, for god's sake. and what kind of a reaction was that from him afterwards? a smile and then to hurl in front of the biggest crush you've ever had in your life is hardly appropriate. it's even worse now that he's avoided her all day and openly flirted with someone else while they were on the yacht for a couple of drinks earlier.

logan swore to himself a couple of weeks ago that she didn't deserve to play his games. if there was anything about starting to like your best friend, it was the sudden realisation that they don't deserve to be treated like the other girls you'd been with before.

he knows she deserves better than what he's doing right now. but admittedly, he got scared of the potential fallout with her. he's really found the bestest friend in her through the years they grew up together. he had to sit himself down this morning to figure out if it was worth risking their friendship for something more.

he watches her cover her mouth to giggle. he contemplates for a couple of seconds: does he want to watch this or should he just gouge his eyes out with the spoon on his plate?

he did want to approach her this morning at breakfast. when she was at the long table buffet waiting for some scrambled eggs - she looked very pretty in the maxi dress she'd bought specifically for this vacation, and it scared him.

he's always been more of a touch-and-go kind of person. thinking about laying with her innocently while they engaged in pillow talk terrified him.

"murder on your mind?" xyriel snorts, leaning towards him with a sly grin. "i've noticed how you've been looking at her for a couple of minutes now."

"i wasn't looking," logan quickly denies, sending his friend a weird look. "it's just weird having a stranger eating dinner with us. i'm not paying for his dinner."

"we know," xyriel grins, following his gaze. she presses her lips together. "but you used to bring girls with us to dinner. what makes hers any different?"

"nothing," logan lies with an innocent shrug. "i just think he is weird."

xyriel stifles a giggle, instead pursing her lips to not let out that everyone knows more than they actually do. "dude, you've got something for her or what?"

"what?" logan scoffs, turning to her with disbelief on his face. "the hell did you get that from? she's my best friend."

"you're just being a little odd," xyriel points out. "and, i've never seen you jealous before."

"i'm not jealous."

"really? you're going to lie to me? you're literally my biggest partner in crime when it comes to picking up girls at bars, and you're going to tell me that i don't know when you like somebody?"

"i don't like her. and i'm not jealous."

xyriel presses her lips together and throws her arms up into the air to surrender. "okay, fine. whatever you say. you don't like her, whatever. get back to me when you're done being indenial."

"xyriel!"

"what?" xyriel laughs, rolling her eyes. "you want to choose this hill to die on tonight, so i'll leave you alone until you're ready to face the facts."

he glances at them one more time. with another roll of his eyes, he shifts in his seat to sit up and start eating his dinner once more. but all he can think about is her lips on his.

she sighs, kicking at the gravel from the cobblestone pathway that leads to their villa. she excused herself from the restaurant early; all the half hearted flirting with some random guy she'd met on the yacht earlier proving to be a lot more draining than she thought.

while she liked the attention and the compliments that were spewing from his mouth, even she knew that it was all just a ruse to get into her pants and she's just not interested in him like that. she had let him down easy when he insisted to walk her back here.

he easily understood and kind of snorted, pointing out that it's obvious that she's got a thing for logan.

the area surrounding their villa is quiet - she'd specifically requested for one that provides them a bit more privacy.

she walks back and forth the pathway leading to their front door, swaying as she plays with the maxi skirt she's decided to put on for dinner. she hops over every other tile then twirling slightly before repeating the same actions up and down the stones. if someone were to see her, they might think that she's crazy.

all she can think of is the way logan had kissed her last night and the way his lips tasted against her.

but every time she starts to swoon at the possibility of falling in love with one of the people who know her best, the image of him pressed up against another girl in her bikini flashes through her mind. it's been bringing her to the edge of tears just imagining what they'd done when they disappeared into the far back of the yacht alone.

she's only ever been with one guy; someone she barely even dated for six months when she was sixteen. it could hardly even be considered a relationship with the way that it had gone.

logan's been with many girls, be it relationships or just simply hooking up with them. maybe she should just accept the fact that she will eventually just turn into one of logan's girls.

but how do you move past that after being friends for ages?

"oh, i thought you'd be asleep by now." she plants her feet into the cobblestone she's just jumped on, slumping her shoulders as her eyes drift to the reflection of the intrusion on the sliding glass door that leads into the villa. "i didn't expect you'd still be awake."

she sucks in a shakey breath when she realises that logan is not alone while approaching the villa. she turns around and forces a smile to her face, her hair landing on one shoulder. "i was just doing some thinking. the villa is yours - don't let me intrude on your alone time."

she carefully eyes the unnamed girl clinging onto logan's arm, body pressed up behind him with a grin on her face. it's a different girl from earlier. seems that her predictions are absolutely right: he might not have even remember the kiss in the first place.

all of these are just in her head.

"actually, i think i'll just join them for some drinks. they're still at the bar, right?" she smiles, pointing in the direction that they'd just approached from.

"no, it's fine," logan smiles with a shakey breath. he turns around to say something to the girl he's with. she can hear her protesting softly and then logan uses a firm voice to answer her. eventually, the girl gives up and simply turns on her heel and walks away.

"what, you lost your hardon when you realised you couldn't shag her in peace or something?" she scoffs, watching the girl walk away and logan turns to face her. "my bad for staying awake past my bedtime. i hope i didn't cost you the love of your life."

logan furrows his eyebrows, hands on his hips. he doesn't necessarily appreciate her words but he knows that he deserves her mean streak. "shut up. you know i'm not like that."

"yeah, now more than ever," she laughs dryly, muttering under her breath as she turns away. "can't believe i kissed you back."

logan tilts his head. "sorry, what was that?"

"i said i can't believe that i kissed you back, you big dumb fucking idiot," she scolds, turning back to him. "i can't believe that i even thought you genuinely liked me back! well, now i know."

"know what?" yes, he is playing dumb. but it seems like the better option to go with rather than having to look her in the eye and crumble at the thought of them being together.

"that i'm just one of your girls," she sighs, throwing her arms into the air slightly. she shakes her head with a small smile on her face. "you think you know someone."

hearing her say that made logan feel guiltier. he genuinely does like her. days leading up to this trip, he couldn't get her out of his mind. all he could think of was holding her hand and doing everything he swore he wouldn't be caught doing with somebody until he was much older.

he would find himself lying awake at 2am thinking of her and all the places that he wants to bring her to. she makes him want to settle down and that thought scares him.

"for the record, i never want to talk to you again after this trip," she scoffs, stepping up towards the villa. she grabs her phone from the patio table and aggressively slides the glass door open. "i don't know who you think you are kissing me and then pretending like it didn't happen. i'm not going to allow myself to be one of the girls you fuck around with, logan. i'm not playing your games."

"oh, so you really messed up big time."

it's 5am. everybody but her is gathered at the dining table of their villa, wide awake from the coffee they decided to consume at midnight at the resort cafe.

oscar and lily arrived first, finding logan sitting on the front porch steps with his head in his hands in damn near tears. lily stepped up and asked him if something bad had happened and he tried his best to recount their interaction to the couple.

twenty minutes later, xyriel and leia joined them in hushed whispers and chips on the table. they've been here ever since.

"i know," logan rolls his eyes. "ugh, why did i kiss her? i never should have kissed her!"

"actually," xyriel perks up. "why did you kiss her?"

"have you looked into her eyes? i swear they're hypnotising!" logan tries to contain his yell, afraid that he might be the one to wake her from her slumber. "she was practically asking me to kiss her!"

"i hope you realise how fucking stupid you sound right now." logan follows the sound of the voice, seeing lily sipping on her water with her chin tucked in and eyes shot up to glare at him. "are you telling me that you're blaming her for all of this when you're the one that's been avoiding her?"

"no," logan whines, throwing his head back. he rubs his face roughly then drops his elbows against the wooden material. "god, she's just so pretty. i couldn't hold myself back from kissing her."

oscar raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with xyriel that's already giggling audibly. "you? have no self control?" he gasps. "no way."

"have you kissed her?" logan scolds, lifting his head to furrow his eyebrows at oscar. "exactly! you don't know what it's like! when i kissed her, i thought 'oh, god, i'm kissing my best friend'. and then she kissed me back! and i swear to you, our entire future played in my mind! like i knew i wanted to spend the rest of my life with her!"

"you're in love with her?" leia's eyes widen. "are you kidding?"

"i'm not in love with her!"

"i'm pretty sure you are," xyriel points out knowingly, slamming her palm on the table. "nobody thinks of the future with somebody if they're not in love with them!"

"is that why you hurled right after you kissed her?" lily frowns, disgust washing over her face. "you got scared at the thought of settling down with a girl?"

"not just any girl, come on!" logan cries, slamming the table softly. he pushes himself up, the seat dragging against the ground as he stands. "my best friend!" he turns to oscar. "our best friend! we literally had her period cycle memorised at some point!"

"gross." leia turns to oscar with a questioning stare.

"hey, we lived in her house. it was impossible to not know," oscar defends himself, rolling his eyes. "you're telling me you can't tell when she's got her period?"

"i guess you have a point."

"focus!" logan cries, throwing his head back in frustration. "guys, we're in the same sport too! what if that gets in the way? we both have our hopes and dreams - i can't risk that getting in the way of what we have."

"i hardly think that would be an issue," xyriel shrugs simply. "you're both adults. you should be able to put that aside and not let it affect a relationship."

"it could be worse," oscar agrees. "she could be an actress."

"what's that got to do with anything?" lily raises her eyebrow in confusion.

"i'm just saying it could be worse if she had to be paired up with men she'd have to be in love with," oscar shrugs with a small frown. "but i guess it's not that relevant to what we're talking about."

"that would be tougher, i suppose," xyriel whispers. she points at logan pacing back and forth, mumbling something about how this is all too much for someone like him. "i've never seen this guy jealous."

"i wasn't jealous!" logan says, turning to them. "guys, what do i do?"

"mate," oscar laughs, pointing at him and gestures at his state. "you're twenty years old. you should know what to do."

"thanks, that literally doesn't help me. at all."

"racing heartthrob doesn't know what to do with his feelings? that's interesting," leia grins, turning to xyriel with a nod. "but if (y/n) swore you off the way she did, there's not much we can do to help you. only you can say something to her to make this all better."

"you should know what to do. you guys fought a year ago, right?" logan frowns, tilting his head at leia. "what did you do?"

"i apologised," leia grins, pressing her lips together. "dude, our situations are completely different. you blew her off knowing she likes you. we fought over a school project and participation points. we are not the same."

"she expects a relationship out of me," logan says. "probably."

"actually, i suspect she wants to kill you more than get into a relationship with you right now," oscar points out with a teasing smirk. "but do carry on."

"i just don't know if i can give her that! i'm not one to settle down."

"what was that joke about guys getting their heart broken once then making it everyone's problem for the rest of their lives?" lily mutters, turning to xyriel with a smile.

"story of logan's life."

"if i knew you guys were going to be this unhelpful, i would have just called liam and asked him for advice."

"mate, he doesn't... he's not good at the advice either."

"exactly!"

"okay, dude," xyriel holds her hands out to halt all conversation. "it's easy. figure yourself out before you talk to her. when you do, tell her what's on your mind. explain it to her, and then apologise."

"what if she still doesn't want to remain friends? i don't want to lose her. she’s my best friend.”

“a little hurt,” oscar frowns with a hand to his heart.

lily shrugs. "consequences of your own actions."

“good morning,” she greets, the hem of her pyjamas dragging along the floor as she walks into the kitchen and dining area. “you’re making breakfast?”

“it’s noon, so technically lunch. i’m making eggs and bacon,” oscar mutters, craning his neck to look at her walk in. “scrambled or sunny side up for you?”

“i’m not hungry, thank you,” she smiles, walking over to him. she tiptoes with a hand to his back, cheeks touching as a greeting before she circles around him. “have they got a kettle? i want some tea.”

“bottom door next to the fridge,” lily speaks up, walking into the kitchen. “good morning everyone. have you guys seen xyriel anywhere? her door was left open.”

“she left to have breakfast at the restaurant with that one girl she met last night at the cafe,” oscar scoffs, leaning down to give a chaste kiss to his girlfriend that approaches him. “good nap?”

“cafe? you guys drank coffee last night?” the small girl scoffs, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she fills the kette with water. “what time did you turn in?”

“seven thirty,” oscar admits. “anyway, got anything planned today?” he exchanges a glance with lily, who pats his back as she passes him to navigate the kitchen for the fridge. “we’re going to the driving range to golf right after this.”

oscar finally scans her face, frowning when he notices her slightly puffy eyes and hoarse voice. had she cried before coming down for lunch?

“i’ll pass, thank you,” she grins politely. “i think i’m just going to stay in today. i’m not feeling like i wanna sweat.”

“oh, i think logan mentioned he didn’t feel like doing anything today either,” oscar lies. logan is actually joining them for golf. “doing anything together, perhaps? everything resolved?”

“no,” she frowns. “why, did he tell you anything?”

“no,” lily answers immediately. “joining us for golf then, i assume?”

she nods tiredly. “okay. could you make scrambled egg, then? i’ll go get my stuff ready.”

“oh, i thought you were staying in the villa this afternoon. i didn’t know you’d be here,” she mutters, arriving at the rendezvous oscar had told her to head to. “where are oscar and lily?”

“what? i was told you were staying in the villa today,” logan mutters, scrambling to sit up. he watches her carefully navigate the couch from the other end, opting to sit in the single seater couch far from him.

he scans her outfit, tilting his head. “made plans today?”

“oscar and lily asked me to join them at the driving range earlier,” she says, nodding with her lips pressed together. “have you seen them around? they asked me to meet at two — i’m five minutes late.”

“i don’t think i’ve seen them around,” logan shakes his head, pretending to look for the couple.

actually, she’d been avoiding him all morning. logan knocked on her door after he spent the better part of two hours thinking of what to say to her. she never answered the door.

after oscar made her lunch and he walked in to get some food for himself, she quickly excused herself to go back to her room, hanging her head low to avoid his longing gaze. which is exactly what they predicted would happen.

so oscar and lily started scheming once more.

true, the couple had planned to go to the driving range. but they decided to push it back a couple of hours to scheme for them.

“oh, then can you just let them know i’ll meet them at the driving range?” she smiles, standing up and dusting off her shorts. “if they happen to come by, of course. see you at dinner, logan.”

“okay, wait,” logan sighs, chasing after her. “can we talk? i really need to talk to you, i need to tell you why i kissed you.”

she smiles tiredly, tucking her chin in slightly. “let’s just forget it ever happened, okay? we’re on vacation; let’s not make it dramatic.”

“no, i don’t want to lose you,” logan frowns, taking her wrist into his hand. “please, let’s talk. there’s a couple of things i need to get off my chest. you’re my best friend.”

she rolls her eyes, smile still stuck on her face as she wiggles her wrist free from his grasp. “i just need some space, logan. you’re my best friend too — i didn’t mean what i said about never speaking to you again. but just give me some time.”

“just let me explain what went through my mind.” logan gently guides her back to sit on the couch, taking her hands into his. “i do have feelings for you. but-“

“but,” she emphasises, voice shaking as tears flood her eyes. “that’s exactly what i didn’t want to hear.”

“but if we get into a relationship, it’s going to complicate everything,” logan explains, shaking his head. “first off, we’ve practically lived together for 4 years. and then we’re in the same motorsport every time — i don’t want any of that to get in the way.”

“then why did you kiss me?” she swipes her hands from him and places it on her lap. she inches away from him slightly. “if you knew us getting involved with one another would get complicated, then why would you kiss me?”

“because i really do like you. but i don’t want to make things harder for us. we’re already in a cutthroat sport, moreso for yourself,” logan frowns, looking down to play around with his thumbs.

“and i wasn’t supposed to act on whatever feelings i’ve developed for you. but i looked into your eyes that night and,” he pauses to sigh and looks up to mert her eyes, “i just couldn’t help myself. i’ve been wanting to kiss you since we went to barcelona.”

“then why would you parade around with other girls after we kissed?” she asks, eyes trailing down to his nervous hands. “you made me feel so small, logan.”

“i got scared. you know me — i’m not typically a commitment type of guy,” he explains softly, reaching out hesitantly for her hand. “but you kissed me back and i felt something brewing in my stomach. something i’d never felt before about anyone. i’m terrified of whatever this is.”

she shakes her head. “i don’t understand,” she breathes. “are you saying that i’m not worth settling down for? is that how you see me, logan? after all these years; you don’t think i’m not the type of girl anyone should want to be better for?”

“no, i’m telling you i’m cowering away from how intense my feelings are for you. and i’m scared of ever hurting you,” he cooes. “i don’t ever want to hurt you. i don’t want to be the cause of your pain because of my ways. you know me — i’m not the best at relationships. i spent half of my life with oscar making sure you only receive the best.”

“so are you telling me you don’t want to be better for me?” a tear falls on her cheek, prompting logan to drop his head in shame. “that i’m not worth the trouble?”

“i didn’t mean it that way. i’m just explaining to you why i did what i did. please, just let me finish.”

“actually, i think i’ve heard enough,” she lets a sob pass her lips, a hand flying up to cover her mouth as more tears start rolling down her cheeks. she shakes her head as she starts to stand up. “honestly, logan, we would have been fine if you just let this fade away. but after hearing what you just said, i don’t want anything to do with you anymore. please just leave me alone.”

“okay, it’s because i think i’m in love with you,” logan spurts just as she turns around. she balls her fists by her side, freezing completely where she stands. “i know that i like you, but it’s scary because i think it’s more than just liking you.”

she turns around, furrowing her eyebrows. “you can’t just say that and think it will make all of this better.”

“i know it doesn’t. but whatever i feel, it’s bigger than me. i know the type of guy i want to be when i’m with you. nothing has ever been so clear to me,” logan rambles, taking a step forward.

she notes his step, mirroring it with a step backwards to maintain their distance. “you just said something else completely different to that.”

“give me a chance to show you, and i swear to you that i’ll love you proper,” logan breathes out. “no more games, no more push and pull, no more girls. just you and me.”

“and i’m supposed to believe you?”

“if you don’t, then it’s my fault. i never should have toyed around with your feelings in the first place,” logan shakes his head. “but if you give me a chance, i won’t ever fuck this up. i’ll be all yours. you will get the best parts of me and nothing less.”

she raises an eyebrow. “and oscar told you this was the way to go about this situation?”

“he gave me some advice.”

“it’s good advice,” she says softly with a small smile playing with her lips. she bites on the inside of her cheek. “no more girls? no more games? you promise?”

“i swear to you with my life,” logan smiles, taking a step forward. he puts his hands on her shoulders with a soft squeeze. “i will be the best boyfriend. i am only yours.”

“calm down. you’re not my boyfriend yet,” she mutters jokingly. “with the stunt you just pulled, you’ll be apologising to me for years to come.”

“i’ll apologise every single day,” logan smiles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “can i take you out on a date when we get back to the uk?”

she purses her lips together, biting back the growing smile on her face. she toys with the hem of her tshirt and swiftly turns away. “i’ll think about it. see you at dinner, logan.”

“see you at dinner, babe.”

“stop that!”

— bonus

“i thought you said you weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend yet,” xyriel scowls, peeking through the small gap on the door that leads into logan’s room in the villa. “did you guys fuck?”

logan, his bare shoulder peeking through the blanket that covers the rest of his body, lifts his head. “no. go away.”

“i know you’re naked,” xyriel whispers, pointing at him accusingly.

“we didn’t fuck, go away,” logan whispers at her, wrapping his arms around the smaller girl to pull her into his body. “we just slept. you know, as normal wholesome couples do.”

“we’re not a couple,” the small girl says, eyes closed as she pulls logan’s arm around her tighter. “he asked me to sleep in his room last night and he brushed my hair until i fell asleep.”

“aw, logan, you big softie,” xyriel teases. “okay, whatever. i’ll leave you to it. we need to check out by noon — be ready by then.”

they bid their goodbyes to the older girl, leaving the room in silence. logan lifts his head, rubbing her bare shoulder. “good morning.”

she turns around, eyes barely open as she faces him. “good morning,” she grins. “kiss me again; i miss your lips.”

@myxticmoon @what-is-happening-helpp @angsthology @lfm98

[mausinly]

Baby fever got me thinking abt ghost and kids <3

Ghost finds himself leaning against a stone wall, fiddling with the straps of his gear as he listens to the bustle of the locals. He's in a more rural part of the city, one half full of shops and restaurants and the occasional pub (of which Ghost is waiting for Gaz and Soap outside of), the other half being a neighborhood on the other side of the cobblestone wall behind him.

It was meant to be a more casual mission, gather some intel and do a bit of a stakeout. Gaz and Soap would chat with a man that has information for them, while Ghost waited outside in case there was trouble or they needed to make a quick escape. After a few hours, he quickly realized this wasn't much of a mission at all.

It was peaceful though, a breath of fresh air compared to the adrenaline and bloodshed of his usual work. He was debating on calling it all a bust and dragging his boys back to base when a small sound hit his ears.

He went silent for a moment before he heard it again, a small whisper of a voice beckoning for his attention.

Ghost lets out a sigh. "The hell...?" He looks around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

"Psst. Up here." A small voice calls from... above him?

Ghost looks up to see a face peering down at him from the top of the stone wall, a few meters above him. A small child, a little girl with short, red curls, peeks over the stone to look at him with big brown eyes.

The two of them just stare at each other for a few beats, observing one another warily until the girl speaks up.

"Are you a soldier?" She asks him with a surprising amount of confidence, speaking with a bluntness that only children seemed to possess.

Ghost pushes himself off of the wall to turn and look at her fully, glancing back at the pub to check for his team before looking back at her.

"Affirmative." He says simply, giving a little nod before falling back into silence.

The girl looks puzzled at the unfamiliar word, but uses her context clues to conclude that it means yes. She steps up a little more, crossing her arms over the top of the wall to look down at him better.

"My nana was a soldier... I think." The little girl says, her tone a little uncertain. "My mum said she used to fly planes and we have a picture of her with a bunch of medals."

"I've never seen a soldier in real life, though." She adds.

Ghost can't help the small chuckle that rumbles from his chest at the child's observation. "That so? Your nan sounds pretty interesting." His eyes crease as he smiles up at her from under his balaclava. "I'll let you in on a little secret... being a soldier's pretty boring a lot of the time."

The girl gives Ghost another quizzical look, blinking those big doe eyes at him. "How? Don't you get to fight bad guys and shoot big guns?"

Ghost supposes she isn't wrong. A lot of his work does include diving headfirst into enemy territory, fighting the desert sun and blowing up old "friends". He still lets out a small laugh at the girl's naivety. Ghost wonders if he'd ever been that innocent once, maybe when he was a toddler and the cruel world his father built hadn't yet beat down on him.

"Sometimes." He says finally. "But there's also a lot of sitting—waiting for things to happen. And paperwork." He tacks on.

The girl makes a face. "Like taxes?"

Ghost nods solemnly. "Like taxes."

The girl makes a soft, long "oh" sound before they fall into silence. Ghost looks back at the pub, half hoping to see Soap and Gaz walk out and half hoping they stay inside so he can keep talking to this silly little kid.

"My names Ginny, by the way." The girl pipes up. "What's yours?"

He debates in his head for a moment. "Ghost." He says finally.

Ginny makes another face. "Ghost? Like a dead person? That's a funny name." She says bluntly. "Is it a nickname? Technically Ginny is my nickname."

Ghost listens as she rambles a little, waiting for her to finish so he can answer her questions. "Yep, like a dead person. And yes, it's kind of like a nickname."

"Do they always give you silly names in the mil-militry?" Ginny tries to ask, scrunching up her face a little as she struggles to pronounce "military".

"Sometimes." He says again. "Sometimes you choose your own, sometimes it starts as a nickname that sticks around."

"Did you choose yours?" She asks.

"No." He replies.

Before Ginny can bombard him with any more questions, a voice calls from somewhere far off, making the girl look behind her. She calls back to whoever is summoning her and turns back to Ghost.

"My mum's home, I've got to go." She says, her tone a little flat as she seems disappointed to leave.

"Alright. I'll see you around, Ginny." Ghost bids her farewell. "Be good for your folks."

"I will! Bye-bye, Ghost." The girl gives a determined nod, waving goodbye to him before stepping down and disappeared behind the other side of the wall.

Ghost stands there for God knows how long, in his own little world until Soap walks up behind him with Gaz in tow. The sargeant claps him on the shoulder about how the mission was a bust and apparently the man didn't have all the info they needed. Thankfully, he'd have what they needed at a later date. All Ghost hears is "we'll be coming back here soon".

[smolvenger]

One Bed (Professor! Tom Hiddleston x Student! Fem! Reader)

Summary: You're on a trip for a research project with your sexy professor...and the Air BNB has only one bed.

Warnings: SMUT ! SMUT! This is one of my mostly smuttier pieces! (loss of virginity, use or professor/student relationship as a kink kind of, some oral sex and p in v sex, a bit of dirty talk and it's unprotected, whoopsies). A mild plot in this one but some sweet, fluffy moments.

Word Count: >2 K. A blurb/smaller oneshot (Prof! Tom just does something to me, okay?!)

Dick-tionary: Smut starts at "Take me. Take me good,” you said" and ends at "Here…let me hold you, YN, please…”.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5 @goddessgirl43

There had been a mistake.

There was your special trip. School funded. To research the historical context and life of 19th-century romantic authors. One you would take with Professor Hiddleston. The days would consist of visiting old houses and attending lectures in between stuffing yourself silly with sandwiches in tea shops. 

All while trying not to secretly oogle the Professor in his suit.

The first day, after a long day of traveling, you attended the first series of lectures. You fought to keep your head from drooping. Both of you ambled down the cobblestoned streets and checked into your stay for the week.

 But there was a mishap in the Air BNB. But the location, no- it was still a cozy, comfortable cottage. One of those in England that seemed like a country house that plopped into a city. 

The problem was that there was only one bed in that room.

The cottage itself was furnished moderately. The chairs were wooden and rickety. The living room had no sofa.

Professor Hiddleston was going to be a gentleman and try to sleep on the floor or the chairs. The picture of his tall body trying to curl himself up to sleep on one made you almost burst into laughter. He was going to find the host and talk to them. 

“It’s big enough! We can just roll away, give each other some space!” you encouraged, gesturing to it.

Before you knew it, you were both in your night clothes. In the bed. A blanket over you.

The beat of your heart raced too fast for sleep. Not to mention your mind for having him near. Seeing him so relaxed. His long curls freed. His glasses were folded in the case on the desk. How his long legs just brushed yours. It was everything in you not to bump your feet flirtatiously to him. Or to even just feel his skin.

It shouldn’t feel this….this…this wrong.

Wrong, wait, you thought, what was wrong?

You both were of age. He was single. You were single. You got along well, incredibly well in fact. He was funny, incredibly kind, wise, and smart as a whip. Not to mention, he was delectable. The way he read Shakespeare out loud would make you wet in a 10 am class. You’d be squirming in his seat as he adjusted his glasses.

When you sat at that lecture, you could see him, Secretly taking glances at you. Your hands just brushed as you took notes. The heat in you jolted you awake and the content of the speech, the reason you were brought here in the first place, seemed like distant white noise compared to his presence close to you.

His breathing was hitching. You heard a rustling. His voice made low and husky, whispering your name.

You turned around.

Before you could process anything, he at once adjusted himself on top of you. Heart beating even harder, feeling his weight pinning you, you began to tremble.

“Pro-Professor?” you asked.

“I don’t care anymore-” he rasped.

He pressed your lips to his. A sound came out of you- you could taste the mint of his toothpaste. He pressed further onto you. Your arms wrapping around to deepen it. He released it, his breath heavy.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he asked.

You swallowed back the snarky comment that you could feel exactly the effect you had on him brushing against your stomach. Though he was still clothed in his loose white shirt and shorts for sleep. His curls over you. His beard scratches against your skin. Heat rising all over you.

You felt his hands touch you. Tracing down from your breasts to your stomach. And further down. You began to tremble and the pooling sensation was happening between your legs. He reached your neck and pressed a kiss there. An involuntary moan flew out of you. His cock in his pants seemed even more pressed.

“I’ve held back, back for so long, darling, please-” he whispered.

His hand stopped when it reached the hem of your shorts. It released and you nearly whined.

“What…what is it?” you asked.

“I’m waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you,” he whispered.

You were a mess of lust now. You wanted him so badly, and here he was. But yet there was the unknown. The precipice.  

“I’ve never…never been with a..a..a…I’ve never-never done this, professor” you stuttered.

He kissed your cheek. His eyes were soft, a smile on his face.

“I’ll make be gentle, my dear,” he promised.

You were shaking and wet and ready. 

“Take me. Take me good,” you said.

He kissed your neck again, and you let out another moan.

“No one’s here-you can make a sound, darling. It’s only you. And me…don’t be afraid, I’ll make you ready,” he rasped.

His kiss traveled to your chest. Then his hand worked each front button of your shirt. Ceremoniously. Sacredly. He pushed it slowly away to show your breasts. He kissed down your chest and onto one. His lips traveled your stomach and then his hands slif off both your shorts and drenched underwear.

He kissed you and swung you over. Already you felt yourself arch at him.

“Beautiful….you’re fucking beautiful…” he whispered, seeing your bare form. The moonlight slipped through the curtains giving a silver sliver in the room.

The clothes were thrown aside. You were naked. But he was still donned. He held up your leg, arching your back, grinding air. Your arms dangled before the bed and making sure he heard your whimpers, knew how badly you wanted him. He began kissing the inside of your thigh, held up in his large hand. His eyes shone at what lay between your legs.

“Hear my soul speak…” he murmured, reciting Shakespeare.

His lips traveled up. Closer, and closer. 

“The very instant that I did saw you…”

You felt his hot breath right before your soaked entrance.

“My heart did fly into your service…” 

 His tongue gave a lap. You writhed against him. You couldn’t remember being this turned on. His mouth gave little licks. You held onto the bedrail for life. You were going to burst- but you needed him. It was not enough. You wanted more.

“Please…Please, fuck me, Professor…I need your cock…” you began to beg.

He took off his shirt and you were in near shock at his lean, muscular body.

Your heart jumped at his erect, large cock dripping already. You would make it fit. You wanted it to. 

He leaned down, positioning himself right at your entrance. He held a forehead to yours.

“Tell me now you want this…tell me now…and I’ll be slow…”

“I want this…” you confirmed.

You lay down, and his hand flew over yours, holding you in place. He groaned as he entered. He slowly slid in, you were gasping.

“Professor…professor-I…I-oh! Oh god!” you cried out.

The pain came to you and fizzled out. You were gasping aloud. Somehow… you adjusted. 

“I’m going to move,” he announced.

He then thrust in and out of you. A slow pace. His breathing was hard. His cock hitting the right spot. You put your hands up onto his chest. One hand of his left yours and lifted your leg to feel the deeper position.

“God-god, yes-yes..” you were groaning.

“Tell me-Tell me, darling, if I- I need to-to be slow- you’re so-so good, doing so good-” he rasped in between them.

But you were craving it. The release. The ravishment.

“Professor-please-harder- faster- fuck me- fuck me-more-please!” you were begging. Already new and you were his whore and you wanted him. In every way possible.

He complied. He brought up the pace. The board of the bed hits the wall gently, and it creaks beneath your weight. His grunts above you, his curls undone. No more Shakespeare now. He went faster, going deeper.

His hand reached down. He found your clit and began to circle it. You leaned back and moaned.

“Yes- professor-there-”

“That noise- that look- you’re going to make me- make me- you’re going to-”

He traced faster. You felt the spinning rise up. He kept murmuring filth to you.

“God, you’re going to make me-make me cum- look-look in my eyes- so you see me- cum, go on-cum darling, yes-fuck, cum- already- cume for me-”

You were spinning, reaching there-

“Yes-fuck, darling- be a good girl- cum for me- I’m going to-I’m-cum for me-I want-want my little student to-to cum- yes-cum for me, cum for me-I’m cumming, darling, I-”

Heaven entered that little cottage as you cried out his name, oblivion breaking on you between those sheets. He arrived there too, flushed and panting hard with his last groan.

“Here…let me hold you, YN, please…” he offered.

You cuddled onto him, feeling his seed drip somewhat on your skin. And your own release pouring out too. He was warm, sweating, and yet soft, comforting as you cuddled him.

“I…I didn’t know…you just…you’re the type to quote poetry during sex…” you breathed out in a joke, your haze.

“You’re poetry itself,” he said with a last kiss on your forehead.

[jellys-compendium]

Comforting Monster Stories for the Weary Heart

Part 1 - The Gargoyle

Pairing: Monster x/& GN!Reader Relationship (can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic) Cw: Brief/implied feelings of solitude and isolation with some fluff at the end Word Count: ~500 A/n: Who doesn't love gargoyles, right? This little project will be my first attempt at some original writing featuring some cozy short stories that focus on monster x/& human relationships. The relationships in each story can be interpreted as either romantic or platonic in nature. Hope you enjoy them!

The clack of your footsteps is the only sound that echoes across the ancient cobblestones as you make your way home. You listen as the sounds are swallowed into the black unknown beyond the streetlights that illuminate your path. It is quiet tonight, the silence somewhat eerie, but you are not afraid. You are protected and nothing or no one can harm you. 

Your nightly journey home alone in the dark used to frighten you. Your entire life you only had yourself to rely on, and if you went missing—swept silently away in the clutches of a monster—would anyone even notice? Would anyone care? 

Pondering the answer to that question has always hastened your steps each and every night, but tonight as you approach the massive and imposing cathedral at the centre of the city, you feel a comforting warmth spread from your heart all the way to the tips of your fingers.

You used to be all alone, but not anymore. Not since that fateful night when you encountered a creature who was just as lonely as you were.

‘Gargoyles, ugly as they may be, are protectors.’ One of the nuns once told you. ‘Under their watchful eyes, you are safe.’

How right she was, although perhaps the well intentioned sister had not meant her consoling words to be taken literally.

Slowing your pace, you gaze up at the gargoyles. Most are arched and snarling, keeping evil at bay with their exposed fangs and claws. They are a majesty to look upon, perched on their stone pedestals. The artistry behind their creation leaves you breathless every time you bear witness to them. Not a single gargoyle is a copy of the other and each is unique in their own way. Just like human beings.

Eventually your gaze comes upon one of the central pedestals. It is vacant and a smile spreads across your lips. 

He’s awake.

And no sooner do those words cross your mind do you feel a shift in the cool autumn night breeze. A gust of wind blows across the manmade path, whistling through the stone archways and singing through the branches of the nearby trees. 

A large shadow passes overhead, shrouded by the moonless sky yet still distinguishable enough for you to discern the enormous breadth of his wings. As quietly as his massive form allows, the gargoyle lands close to you, just outside the reach of light.

He calls your name, his voice like the scraping of stone, rough and earthy. It’s strangely soothing. It sounds like the whisper of old parables told by the fire, now long forgotten. Or like the rumbling of thunder on a hot summer night. It sounds like…home.

“You’re here,” You smile, heart thrumming excitedly as you walk into the shadows to join him. It’s too dark to see him completely, but the orange glow of his inhuman gaze guides you into his embrace. Before long you’ve wrapped your arms around him in a warm hug and his sharp claws wrap gently around you in kind.

“I'll always be where you are.”

He squeezes you tight, nuzzling against you and holding you like you matter--like you always mattered despite everything that you've endured.

Your eyes burn at the gesture and you squeeze him back, wanting your gargoyle to know that you're here for him too, that he has and always will have at least one friend in this city full of strangers.

"You are not alone."

His words, so tender and kind, are the soothing balm your soul needed. Your hands, chilled by the night breeze and his cold skin, caress his cracked and bumpy skin, eagerly reciprocating the kindness and care he had showed you.

"Neither are you."

dividers by @/saradika

[silverskye13]

"Do you believe in the gods, Pix?"

The archeologist chuckles, and continues adjusting measurements on his hologram projector. "You trying to convert me, Joel?"

The god of Stratos waves his hand dismissively, and though Pix isn't looking at his face, he can almost feel an the eye roll as clouds briefly wink over the sun. "Obviously you believe in me. If you didn't, we wouldn't be talking right now."

"Ah."

"I mean the old ones. You know." Joel waves a hand vaguely the direction of the ruined capital. "The absent ones."

Pix pauses in his work to turn and look past the bridge. The burnished gold of the tip of one of the angel's wings is all he can see over the hillside gates, but he knows the goddess is there. He memorized every curve and angle of that monument when he'd found it. It was... An impressive statue. He turns back to his projector and keys in a few more measurements, trying to get the height of the road just right.

"I don't know."

"Oh. Well I suppose you wouldn't." Joel shrugs at Pix's questioning glance. "You're human."

There is a moment where they're silent. Pix works keys a few buttons, adjusting the placement of his projection, and Joel watches, arms crossed like a sentinel. He doesn't help Pix. Not really. Joel isn't really that kind of god. He bestows gifts and blessings, but he reserves his hands for his people and his whims. But Pix didn't invite the god here to build. He doesn't mind reconstructing this old capital by himself. Joel does, however, grunt disapprovingly every time Pix places the structure wrong, and flick his eyes a little to the left, and Pix takes the hint and adjusts the hologram in that direction.

"You wanna know what I think?" Pix says, setting the hologram in its final place and taking a few steps back to observe it.

"You think?" The god chuckles, and when he does, distant thunder rumbles.

"I think more than you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I think worshipping the world is the closest we can get to an omniscient god." Pix finishes the thought before they can devolve into ribbing each other. It's fun to bicker with Joel, but that's not where Pix is going with this conversation.

Joel cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. "You don't think I'm omniscient?"

"Would you ask me this stuff if you were, oh all-knowing god of storms and things?"

"Sky god," Joel corrected. "Touché, little history man. So, you worship the world, then?"

"Everything we do leaves a footprint," Pix tells him. He adjusts his hologram just a bit to the left again. Joel nods at him almost unconsciously. Pix stops fiddling and starts playing shulkers, preparing to build. He's going to finish this bridge today. "The earth records these footprints. It's the nature of things that change, that they hold impressions of what changed them."

Pix gestures to the rock slide that cuts off one side of his hologram. "This gate used to carve right through this hill. Even though this side has collapsed, and erosion has eaten the side, beneath that rubble, there are cobblestones someone laid by hand. Maybe they were slaves, or skilled craftsman, but regardless they existed. The lived a full life, whatever that meant for them, they spoke to people they loved, ate their favorite foods when they were sad, and one day, they died. Bones turn to dust, epitaphs fade, but that builder's hands still touched those cobblestones."

The god of Stratos watches the hologram with a new and open curiosity. He reaches out a massive hand and places it gently on the particles of light, as though he could touch the recreation. Instead, his fingers dip through the projection, making long flickering shadows in the light field, distorting the image like rain on a glassy lake. It's almost comical watching the massive god be so gentle and reverent, especially over something so inconsequential as a bridge piece.

"So is this how you worship the world, then?" Joel asks quietly. "By helping it remember what it's forgotten?"

There is something loaded in the words. Pix looks up at the god, and he remembers signs underneath a floating city as citizens gently remind their god they love him, and they need him. He thinks of temples to gods whose names have passed out of history, floating amidst a living city made by a god who has no temple built. Not yet.

Pix doesn't know what to say, so he opts to say nothing, instead reverently laying out his tools on the bridge like precious gifts on an altar. The two don't talk. Pix begins laying stones for a new foundation, and Joel watches thoughtfully, not seeing the world in front of him. They finish the bridge.

[fleuraimer]

…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u

u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33

wc: 2k

cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

Spring is here.

Fucking finally.

All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.

Like him.

Like Harry.

Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.

It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.

Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.

Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.

She pouts.

And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.

Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.

“Y’don’t have’t—”

“I want to, Bellissima.”

Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.

She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.

Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.

He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.

He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…

Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.

Her Harry.

He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.

“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can’t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.

“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.

Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.

He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.

Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…

She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.

“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.

Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.

She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.

She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.

They both like it that way, anyhow.

When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.

Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”

Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).

He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).

“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.

Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”

As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.

She sees it all.

“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.

Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.

She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.

He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”

His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).

Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.

“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.

“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”

She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.

“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”

Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”

(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?

She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.

She fucking adores spring.

[jetra4ivor]

I saw a video talking about why Minecraft seems to have stagnated a bit lately and doesn’t have the same appeal as it once did. It talked about the usual complaints, such as inventory bloat, new blocks, structures, quality of life advancements… but the one aspect I didn’t see them talking about was ABSTRACTION.

I think that as Minecraft has been pushed closer towards reality, we’ve lost the inherent FEAR that comes from the abstract in the old video games Minecraft was emulating its style from.

Maybe it’s because I grew up with Atari as my first console, but there was a level of unnerving fear that was created through the hardware limitations and graphics during that era. Because everything was so abstracted, you let your imagination fill in the blanks. This blocky room with goofy eyeballs became a darkly lit haunted house where monsters could appear around every corner.

And Minecraft is clearly going for this level of abstraction. The entire world is just low resolution pixelated blocks, but there’s JUST enough definition that if you squint your eyes the world seems to mimic our own. It produces an uncanny valley effect that, coupled with survival elements, makes the game absolutely TERRIFYING at times.

And a perfect example of this is the creeper. What a horrifying monster! But the details of what it actually is are obscured through abstraction and pixel limitations. What exactly IS the creeper made of? Some people have interpreted the green blotches to be leaves, others see a wrinkly leather-like texture, others see fur. How do you interpret that grimace? Is is a permanent scowl? A sad mourning? There’s JUST enough detail to make the creature recognizable, but not enough detail to make it perfectly clear to everyone what it’s made of. That’s terrifying!

That so many artists can have such wildly different interpretations of the creeper is a testament to its intentionally unnerving design.

But over the years those terrifying edges have been smoothed out. Textures have been refined to be less garish and harsh. New more recognizable animals have been added. A parrot, for example, looks like a parrot. And just with the colors alone you can tell what kind of parrot it’s meant to be. There no ambiguity. No unsettling interpretation.

And even the enviroment has been smoothed out and changed to reflect reality.

So I think that the reason Minecraft today doesn’t feel like Minecraft of 10 years ago is because too much emphasis has been placed on mimicking reality. Even in the more recent additions these things have real world equivalence which reduce the inherent terror and unease that abstracted environments would evoke. The Nether today is far less scary than the Nether of 10 years ago, even if it’s still as dangerous.

There’s just something really unsettling about a perfectly square house in high contrast mossy cobblestone that you won’t get from a village of friendly NPC’s bathed in soft ambient lighting, you know?

I genuinely believe that Minecraft has leaned too far into realism. If they want people to keep playing longer, it’s not to add MORE structures, it’s to add back in some of the abstracted nature of the original game. Don’t make things inherently clear what they are. Allow people to interpret things in different ways. Stop trying to emulate realistic environments when the trees you cut down don’t even fall over. This is Minecraft! Minecraft is meant to be WEIRD and CREEPY almost like an alien’s failed interpretation of our word.