#such wicked teeth; but such enchanting lips!

[mirohtron]

there is beauty in life, even in the hideous, in the worst, ugliest crevasses of the world. when the night sky blocks out your wildest dreams and the hideous monsters under your bed bruise your arm as you try to seek out your lightswitch, when the parasites come out of your mother's mouth to poison you. there are blades of grass painted shimmery silver around their edges from the moon, a hand held under the soft yellow glow of a lamppost, a boot dragged across rough asphalt just so someone can hear the soft rasp of rocks under their feet. when your friends hair turns shimmery gold, silky under the sun that gives you headaches, or when you turn dizzy from sickness but the flush of your cheeks is pretty. in the macabre, in the scariest of paintings, a hideous smile captivating. a bloody mouth enchanting. a rotting hand telling you to hold it. the overgrown weeds of a graveyard being the bed of a stray dog, the wet mud wedged under your nails but smearing across stones to create images. blood across your arms (your life!). the razor unstained (what a disguise!). the rotting of your friend's throat, his lungs. the itch in his hands when he sees smoke. the delight when you see her smile. the fur flying away from your pet. just keep living. just feel the world turn and take you with it.

[milswrites]

Happy Ending

Based on this request

Pairing: Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel's brothers remind him that he deserves happiness too.

Warnings: An equal amount of fluff and angst.

Word count: 2.9k

Notes: I wrote this while in a massive slump so I’m scared to post this lol. Consider this my advanced apology in case this isn’t very good.

Azriel was spellbound; the male finding himself unable to do anything but bask in the majesty of your ethereal form. Admiration pooling in the shadowsinger's eyes as he absorbed the enchanting glow of your sun-kissed skin.

He watched you.

Mouth parting in awe as his hazel eyes lingered over your soft figure as you rose from the picnic blanket. Your beauty likening that of the Mother herself as the radiant light of the afternoon sun encircled the crown of your head like a lucent halo.

He watched you.

His usually stoic lips upturned into a gentle smile as a giggling Nyx ran into your waiting arms. Heart fluttering uncontrollably as he watched the young boy place a loving kiss onto your cheek before you reciprocated the gesture with a beaming grin.

He watched you.

Because if he didn't, then he was sure to wake; with you only the object of his wildest dreams.

~~~

"You're staring again," Cassian chimed, a wicked smirk crossing his face as he propped himself up from the blanket he was laying on in order to face a flustered Azriel, "It's starting to get a little creepy."

"I am not staring!" Azriel hissed through clenched teeth. And yet, despite having been called out for it by his brother, Azriel's eyes failed to leave your glowing form as you walked away from where the males were sat to head towards the river's edge alongside Feyre and Nesta.

"Did you know your wings twitch when you're lying brother?" Cassian teased, chuckling as he ducked his head in order to dodge the cushion a disgruntled Azriel had thrown his way. The shadowsinger managing to tear his eyes from you for long enough to send a menacing glare in his brother's direction.

"I mean, can you really blame her for not acknowledging you, Az?" Rhysand asked with a snigger, violet eyes dancing with mirth as he playfully nudged Azriel's shoulder with his own, "it's not your fault that the heir of the Night Court is just as charming as his father."

Unimpressed by Rhysand's egocentric comment, Azriel and Cassian shifted their gaze from where the group of females were playing with Nyx down by the river to look towards each other. Their apathetic brows raising in union before the two males proceeded to launch their cushions at Rhysand's face.

Scoffing at the shrill cry which followed, Azriel shook his head as he turned his attention back to you. The ghost of a smile working its way onto the shadowsinger's lips as he watched you hold on to Nyx's hands in order to steady the child as he paddled in the shallows. His heart swelling at the dulcet sound of your cheery laughter as the squealing boy playfully splashed the flowing water towards you.

Unfortunately Azriel's watchful admiration didn't last for long, Cassian's tentative voice once more breaking the silence of an otherwise peaceful afternoon, "Az ?. . ."

"Don't push me Cass," Azriel warned, eyes rolling as they briefly flickered towards the general in disapproval, "or cauldron help me, that stone Nyx is throwing won't be the only thing sinking to the bottom of the river."

"Oh sure, my lips are sealed," Cassian shrugged dismissively as he moved to lay back down, voice laced with amusement as he offhandedly added, "I won't even mention the fact that your shadows have taken a little trip down to the river to visit a certain someone."

Azriel's attention snapped back towards the body of water where - just as Cassian had noted - two rogue shadows had taken it upon themselves to curl around not only the tiny heir, but also you. The shadowsinger's heart sinking to his stomach as his wide eyes took in the disobedient shadow which had lovingly snaked its way around the curve of your waist.

A sputtering Azriel worked to tug the insubordinate shadow away from you, cursing as it refused to budge from where it was comfortably resting. The smoky tendril seeming to have a mind of its own as it stubbornly ignored its master's fretful call.

This movement didn't go unnoticed by you. Your curious gaze dropping to the shadow which was tenderly embracing your waist, a soft smile gracing your lips as you lifted your bright eyes to meet Azriel's own panicked ones. The bashful male blushing a deep shade of red as you cheerfully waved in his direction.

Azriel sheepishly waved back, a crooked smile stretching across his reddened face as he nervously uttered under his breath, "Cauldron boil me."

"I don't get it," Rhysand started, brows knitting together in confusion as he observed Azriel's failed efforts of trying to reign in his unruly shadows, "you obviously like her, and it's clear your shadows do too . . . So why haven't you done anything?"

"It's never come up," Azriel justified with a shrug, clearing his throat in a poor attempt of acting casual, "we're both busy people, sometimes it's just easier to stay friends."

Cassian snorted at Azriel's words, lips curling into a devilish grin as he chided his brother, "Liar. Your wings are twitching again."

Azriel rolled his eyes, wings curling in defense as he reasoned, "Look I don't even know if she's interested in -"

"Bullshit" Rhysand interjected, scoffing at the inaccuracy of Azriel's traitorous thoughts.

"Rhys-"

"Az, she is totally in love with you."

"But how do you even-"

"Azriel!" Rhysand exclaimed, resting a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder in order to ground him, "only a fool would look at the way she looks at you and think that she doesn't feel the same."

A shaky breath rattled in Azriel's chest, his dejected hazel eyes looking up to meet the violet irises of his brother's concerned stare, "It doesn't matter. Even if she does like me . . . I'm not good enough for her."

"Not good enough?" Cassian questioned with an uncertain laugh, pulling Azriel's attention from Rhysand to himself, "Az, you're a six-foot-four Illyrian with immense power and an - admittedly - impressive wingspan. I think it's safe to say that you're good enough for anyone."

Azriel released a sad laugh at Cassian's misunderstanding, the shadowsinger taking a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply before speaking, "Thanks Cass, but that's not what I meant. I just . . . I think she deserves someone who is worthy of her love."

"You think you're unworthy?" Cassian asked in surprise, while, in the same breath, Rhysand reassured, "But you are worthy, Az."

"No," Azriel disagreed with a low shake of his head, his sorrowful eyes returning to where you were wading through the water with Nyx safely held between your arms, "she's everything good about the world and I won't ruin that - I can't . . . Sometimes perfect things are better left untouched."

"Az, why would you even think like that?" Cassian pressed in disbelief, hurt crossing his features as he listened to the shadowsinger's deprecating words.

Azriel's brows pulled together in shame, expression forlorn as he began to explain, "The things I've done? . . . The things I'm capable of doing? She doesn't need to be exposed to that life. Cass, she deserves better than me."

Rhysand guffawed at Azriel's remark, his head thrown back in glee as he clutched at his chest. Even Cassian found humor in the situation, the male hiding his deep chuckle behind a half-hearted cough, wiping faux tears from his eyes as the High Lord stated, "That Az, is the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"I'm glad you guys find my insecurities amusing."

"We hear you Az - really, we do," Rhysand consoled his brother, the male's laughter simmering into a supportive smile as he rested a comforting hand on Azriel's knee, "I mean, you don't really think that it was easy for us did you?"

His words peaked Azriel's interest, the shadowsinger's pained expression morphing into one of surprised curiosity as he quirked a questioning brow at his brother, "Really? But I thought-"

"Come on Az, be serious. Do you think a day goes by where I truly believe I'm worthy of Feyre?" Rhysand asks, his wistful gaze moving down to the river where a beaming Feyre was teaching an excitable Nyx how to skip stones, "But that doesn't stop me from working my damn ass off every day to try and be the mate that she deserves."

"Yeah, just look at Nesta and I. We're far from perfect," Cassian commented, tears of joy lining the general's eyes upon seeing Nesta's glowing smile as she cheered their nephew on from the river's bank, "we fight like animals half of the time, admittedly it's mostly down to me saying things that I don't mean to say . . ."

As if sensing her mate's loving stare, Nesta's eyes moved to meet his own. The female sending a playful wink Cassian's way, earning a soft chuckle from the male, "but she always makes sure to tell me when I'm out of line, just as she expects me to do the same for her."

Azriel nodded in understanding, the self-placed shame he had once felt due to his lack of self-worth was now directed towards the fact he had never known what obstacles his brother's have had to overcome on their quest for happiness. Guilt swimming in the shadowsinger's eyes as he confessed, "I never knew you guys felt the same way."

Cassian smiled fondly at his brother, a strong arm moving to wrap around Azriel's shoulders as he gave the male a comforting squeeze, "Relationships aren't about one person being more deserving than the other Az, they're about balance . . . They're about loving someone so deeply that you want to make yourself a better person for them."

"You'll get there" Rhysand promised, his confident gaze working to uplift Azriel's spirit, "you just have to believe that you deserve happiness too."

"That sounds easier said than done" Azriel remarked flatly. And yet, despite his words, the shadowsinger was unable to hide the way in which his lips had started to twitch into a hopeful smile.

"It's not when you've found the person worth taking the risk for," Rhysand answered, his eyes shimmering with sincerity as he gestured towards you with his head, "And I think you've already got that bit covered."

A light blush dusted Azriel's cheeks, a timid laugh slipping from the male's lips as his adoring gaze turned back to you, "She is pretty great isn't she?"

"Pretty great?" Cassian asked with a snort, a teasing grin working its way onto the general's face, "Az if you don't ask her out soon, Nesta and I would be more than willing to steal her from you."

Azriel scowled at his brother, eyes narrowing as he opened his mouth to spit back a retort. Yet you beat him to it, the shadowsinger's words catching on the tip of his tongue as your soft voice called out to the group of males, "Are you guys just going to sit there gossiping all afternoon or are you going to come and join us?"

Cassian readily jumped to his feet, the male wasting no time in eagerly setting off in your direction. Lips pulled into a scheming smirk as he yelled back to you, "Be right over sunshi-"

Unable to finish his sentence, a strangled yelp fell from Cassian's mouth. The male clumsily tumbling to the ground as a rogue shadow slipped away from the general's ankle unnoticed. Azriel chuckling merrily as he passed the downed male with a grin, "Graceful as always, Cass."

~~~

Azriel had never seen a siren before. But here, sat on the bank as he watched you elegantly glide through the river as though it was second nature, the male was certain that your beauty - even in the water- was unmatched.

And just when Azriel thought you couldn't get any more radiant, he found himself enraptured by your celestial grace. His hazel eyes drawn to the delicate droplets of water which glistened on your plush lips thanks to the sun's amber rays.

You were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Rhysand had picked the most beautiful spot on the continent for your outing today, and yet even the breathtaking scenery of the lush surroundings paled in comparison to you.

"Hey Az?" your gentle voice drew the male from his stupor, the lovesick fog in his affectionate gaze clearing just enough for Azriel to see your expectant eyes looking up at him from where you were swaying in the water, "Are you going to come in?"

Azriel's eyes grew wide at your question, cheeks burning red as the male searched for a suitable answer, "Oh, uh . . . you want me to -?"

A low groan of frustration sounded next to Azriel, an exasperated Rhysand roughly pushing the shadowsinger to stand as he whispered with a hiss, "Az, just get in the damn water."

Shrinking under the anticipatory stares of his family, Azriel swiftly removed his boots before awkwardly shuffling towards the river's edge. Cautious, he dipped a tentative toe into the flowing water before pulling back with an alarmed cry, wings curling in shock at the frigid temperature of the river, "I don't know if I ca-"

"Oh for cauldron's sake" Cassian huffed behind Azriel, a heavy hand falling onto the male's shoulder before he shoved the shadowsinger in.

Azriel had no time to react, a panicked shriek slipping from his lips as he forcefully crashed into the freezing water. Limbs flailing uselessly as he worked to make his way towards the surface, the shadowsinger's control slipping as the current worked against his feeble actions.

Relief was delivered in the form of your tender touch, your gentle hands moving to support the male as he gathered his wits and acclimated to the - somewhat - soothing chill of the river. Azriel's eyes blinking open only for him to be greeted by your warming smile looking back at him.

"Hi" you whispered, softly giggling at Azriel's uneasy expression. Eyes shining with adoration as you gently moved to wrap your arms around Azriel's shoulders in order to steady the fumbling male, "thank you for joining me."

"Hi" Azriel replied breathlessly, his cheeks still burning with a heated blush despite the cooling nature of the water which surrounded him. Noticing your close proximity, the shadowsinger gulped nervously. The male helpless in resisting his shadows control as they worked to pull his slightly trembling hands to rest against the curve of your waist.

Azriel now safe within your hold, the two of you happily bobbed along with the current. All thoughts of your watchful friends long forgotten as you allowed yourselves to become lost within the moment. Azriel's heart beating wildly as your ardent gaze never failed to leave his flustered face.

And it was here, tenderly wrapped within your comforting embrace, that Azriel allowed himself to wonder if Rhysand had been right all along about your supposed affections. The shadowsinger realizing that perhaps he needn't have worried about whether you would be able to love him - because maybe you already did.

"Hey sunshine!" Cassian's startling shout broke the silence which had comfortably settled between the pair of you, the general's voice filled with mischief as he teasingly called, "Az has something he wanted to ask you!"

Stunned, Azriel blanched at his words. A string of expletives falling from the shadowsinger's lips as he turned his anxious gaze towards you. The unsteady beating of his heart thundered in his ears at the daunting sound of your encouraging hum.

"Uh . . . um, I just wanted to . . ." Azriel's apprehensive gaze shifted towards his brother who was waiting on the bank with his head hung into the palm of his hand, panic building in his chest as the male found himself lost for words, "I was just wondering if you wanted . . . uh-"

"Yes Azriel," you beamed, softly nodding along to Azriel's garbled speech, "The answer is yes. I would love to go on a date with you."

Wasting no time, you sealed your lips against his own. Using the arms you had tightly wrapped around his shoulders to pull the flustered male closer towards you. Smiling into the kiss as Azriel's lips began to tentatively move against your own.

The shadowsinger clutched onto you as though you were his lifeline, fingers firmly pressed into your waist as he held you flush against him - lips chasing after yours as though he would surely drown without your sweetened kiss.

Yet the kiss was only fleeting, you having pulled away at the sound of your friend's ecstatic cheers. Azriel released a laugh of disbelief as you moved to rest your forehead against his own, your eyes bright and full of love as you breathlessly whispered, "Finally. I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me that."

"What?" Azriel asked in astonishment, his swollen lips parting in surprise, "You've been waiting for . . . me?"

"You're beautiful, Az" you exclaimed as though it was obvious, a soft gasp escaping from the male's lips at your words, "So unbelievably beautiful."

"But I- I'm . . ."

You hushed the male with a swift peck to his lips, "Just kiss me again, Az."

"With pleasure" Azriel answered with a smile, bringing his lips to meet your own.

[jobean12-blog]

A Love for the (P)Ages

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 1,170

Summary: Bucky might be the baddest mob boss in the city but he’s the softest and sweetest husband in the Universe. 

Author’s Note: I just love writing super soft Mob!Bucky and I love books and then I figured why not both and while this doesn’t focus on Mob stuff just keep that tucked away 🥰Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluff, fluffs and more fluffs :)

“Why can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me?” you ask as you walk toward him.

“Because it’s a surprise doll,” he says softly, circling his arms around your waist once you’re standing between his spread legs.

“Are you going to stay in your suit?”

He nods as he toys with the hem of the tee shirt you’re wearing.

“So should I put on one of the fancy dresses you’ve bought me? Or?”

His hand slides slowly over your hip, reverently tracing the curve of your body until his fingers wrap around the back of your neck and he pulls you down toward his lips.

“Wear anything you want doll face,” he whispers against them.

“Fine,” you pout playfully before kissing him. “Don’t give anything away!”

When you step out of your walk-in closet you find him at the mirror above the dresser fixing his tie. You meet him and reach out as if to help but instead start to undo it. He raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn’t protest.

Once his tie is off you drape it carefully over the dresser and open the first two buttons of his shirt then fix the collar. Your fingers toy with the chain that hangs around his neck, the one you gifted him, and you straighten the pendant at the end.

“There,” you say happily. “I love when you have it open like this…although, all the other women do too so I’m sure I’m going to be giving out plenty of dirty looks wherever we end up going.”

He chuckles and drags you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms until he can run his nose along your throat with a soft inhale.

“Jealous baby doll?” he teases when he reaches the shell of your ear.

“Maybe just a little,” you admit on a gasp.  

“It’s only fair doll considering every man that lays eyes on you can’t seem to peel them away unless I punch them in the face.”

Your grin is wicked when you say, “well, I’m definitely something to look at.”

“You are the one and only thing worth looking at,” he murmurs as he steps back and his eyes sweep over you.

You soften at his words, linking your fingers with his as he tugs you out of the room.

“Now, let’s go because I have a feeling you’re going to want to spend a lot of time where I’m taking you.”

With his arm secured tightly around your waist and your eyes squeezed shut Bucky leads you toward your surprise.

“Now don’t open them until I say so, ok?”

“Ok,” you answer, digging your teeth into your bottom lip with excitement.

He opens a door to usher you inside and the moment you take that first step a wave of enchantment washes over you, carrying the aroma of aged leather and dusty pages.

His lips meet your ear and he whispers, “open up doll.”

Your eyes pop open and fill with the soft golden glow from the antique lamps that line the walls.

“Bucky!” you whisper shout, unable to take your eyes off the books but squeezing his hand tightly. “It’s amazing!”

You rush forward, tugging on his hand but he stops you with a gentle pull and you turn to look at him.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a boyish smirk and he crooks his finger. When you step into his embrace he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours.

“There’s only one rule while you’re here,” he whispers.

Your arms circle his neck and you smile. “And what’s that?”

“A kiss for every book I buy you.”

“What if I buy one hundred,” you giggle.

“Then lucky me,” he says with a wink.

You press yourself closer and pepper his face with kisses then finally find his lips. He’s reluctant to let you go but you hold his hand as you start to meander through the labyrinth of wooden shelves that are lined with books and seem to stretch on endlessly.

The old, wooden floor is worn from the traffic of numerous readers and you can’t help but run your fingertips along the spines of the books as you peruse the shelves as one of them.

“I don’t know where to begin,” you say softly, peeking over your shoulder at Bucky.

He smiles sweetly, his eyes trained on you and the joy you’re expressing.

“Take as long as you want doll.”

The urge to kiss him all over again is strong and so you grab the next book your fingers find and pull it from the shelf. As you flip through it you take slow steps toward him until your standing close enough that you can feel his warmth.

You open the book, carefully thumbing through the pages before lifting it to your nose and inhaling it’s scent.

“Oh I’m definitely getting this one!”

Without another word you hold it up for him and he takes a deep inhale. “Smells good.”

“Right!” you cheer with as much excitement as you can quietly. “And look, it’s a romance!”

He reads the title and his smile widens as he leans in for his kiss. It starts off slow and sweet, his lips a whisper against yours but when you press yourself closer and slide your hands over his chest, he closes the distance, pushing you toward the shelves until your back hits the dusty wood.

His fingers dance up your arm, tracing the curve of your shoulder and grazing your collarbone before his thumb presses under your chin and he tilts your head back to trail kisses along your throat.

“Bucky,” you breathe out, your fingers clenching the expensive fabric of his shirt. “Someone might see.”

“That’s ok baby doll,” he croons, finding your lips again. “I own the place.”

You suck in a breath and look him in the eyes.

“You…you own it.”

He nods and gathers you in his arms as he presses soft kisses to your face.

“You bought me a bookshop?”

“I did,” he states as if it’s nothing. “And don’t worry, the previous owners were perfectly happy with the agreement considering they were ready to retire and I promised I wouldn’t change anything about it other than the necessary upgrades.”

“I…” you stammer. “I just…I can’t believe it!”

“And you haven’t even seen the rest of it yet. You’re gonna love all the reading nooks and there’s a hidden attic that we can renovate into whatever you want.”

He kisses you again but before it starts to heat up you nibble his bottom lip and ask, “how many books do you think are in here?”

His smirk is wicked. “Oh there must be thousands of them doll face.”

“That’s a lot of kisses,” you purr.

He rests his hands against the bookshelf on either side of your head, trapping you in place as his face inches closer and his gaze falls to your mouth.

“It’ll never be enough,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along yours.

@book-dragon-13 @sebstanwhore @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @justkinsey @kmc1989 @beccablogsthings @laineyreads @lookiamtrying​ @hallecarey1 @hiddles-rose​

[avocado-writing]

If requests are still open, could you do how the gentlemen companions + the tiefling bachelors would react to their small, usually very sweet and timid, s/o catching them off guard by flipping a switch and displaying very bold and dominant behavior towards them? Could be nsfw or sfw. Up to you!

Love your work so much, sending you all of the best! 🧡

under a cut bc nsfw >:) minors dni

Astarion

he’s doing his thing, kissing up your neck, thrusting his clothed cock along the crease between your thigh and your sex

muttering sweet filth into your ear, reaches out to lick the line of your jaw —

suddenly a switch flips, you grab his shoulders and then he’s beneath you

“is this okay?” you ask, breathily, running your teeth up the length of his neck, nipping where his pulse would be

he’s immediately harder than he’s ever been in his life.

becomes rather quiet as you fuck him, not relying on his usual dirty talk, in fact all he can do is moan and hang onto you

he cums so hard he goes lightheaded

“my heart… that was… something…”

you giggle and bury your face, suddenly shy again, but up for a repeat performance…

Gale

this man loves to be dommed. prove me wrong.

when you start being more dominant, he is thrilled.

lots of moans and whines to let you know how much he’s enjoying it, how well you’re doing

encourages you to bite and scratch. he wants evidence of this, of you.

he lies back and you ride him, pressing your fingers into his mouth for him to suck, and he’s never been more pleased lol

you like cuddly aftercare, checking in that he’s alright, and he lets you know at great length how much he enjoyed the experience

you catch him admiring his bruises and lovebites in the mirror later, proud 😌

Wyll

as we know our lovely lad wants to wait until marriage, so if we’re imagining this scenario mid-adventure…

maybe he watches in awe as you put Mizora in her place, giving her a real dressing down, telling her to leave Wyll alone

he’s never seen this side of you, so vicious… and for him… it makes him feel things.

when she leaves you turn around and give him the most ferocious kiss, possessive

maybe you grab his arse a bit too…

when the two of you separate, breathless, you mumble a little “I just don’t like her talking to you like that…”

he smiles and feels his face grow hot at your behaviour and realises how much he likes it 😏

Halsin

halsin is a big dude. if you’re smaller than him and suddenly you’re dominant? he’s surprised for sure.

he’s kissing you with your back up against a tree, you’re getting really into it, and suddenly your grab him by the hips and flip your position

his eyes go wide but he finds himself moaning into your kiss

it’s all rough. the bark is rough against him, your lips are rough against his, and suddenly your hands are all over him

touching his chest, running across his stomach, reaching down to cup his cock …

suddenly he realises how hard he is. genuinely, he’s throbbing in his trousers.

as you rub and kiss him harder he thinks he might be in danger of coming in his trousers like a pent-up, much younger man

yet as he feels your touch, he welcomes it. you make him release with a whimper.

he is so utterly enchanted by you. you never cease to amaze him.

Dammon

oh, Dammon. strong arms and strong heart, used to being the more dominant one when you’re together. thinks that you expect it from him?

then one day you steal into his forge with a wicked look on your face…

you shut the door and lock it behind you. he takes off his gloves and turns to you to ask what’s the matter, but is swept up by your fierce kiss

when you stop to your knees he feels his face go scarlet.

says you don’t have to, but absolutely melts under your touch when you unlace his trousers and take his cock in your hand

oh, he’s speechless when your mouth is on him.

you give him mind blowing head in front of his forge, fire both at his back and from your lips.

he comes embarrassingly quickly.

you swallow - swallow! - give him a quick kiss, and leave with a saunter 😈

Rolan

pretends he’s expecting this. is a bratty sub lol

but as soon as your mouth comes into play he just melts.

you bite his nipples, nip down his torso, and take him so deep into your throat that he mewls underneath you.

if you’re in his tower? lay him out on his archwizard’s desk and ride him until he’s totally lost the power of speech. all he can manage is a desperate mantra of “please, oh gods please…”

he’ll do anything for you in that moment. makes promises of his devotion, his love, please just let him cum…

when he’s boneless and sweaty he begins to get very embarrassed, he worries that you might think less of him for being so needy

but you just cuddle him and kiss him all over his face. when you call him a good boy he thinks he might just explode.

Zevlor

Zevlor is a switch because he’s a grown-ass man.

happy when either of you are dominant if that’s the mood your lovemaking takes, but does love it when you’re on top.

you pin him down, pressing his shoulders into the mattress and working his cock inside of you

his hands settle on your hips and he begins to chant your name like a prayer.

fucking him feels like an act of worship. your body is his altar at which to offer prayer. he looks up at you from the flat of his back and knows he has been blessed with you.

“do you love me, Zevlor?” “with every inch of my heart.”

[belokhvostikova]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Oral (female receiving) and a really bad joke.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

It had been an hour of nonstop, "Eds... Ed... Eddie... Edward?"

But no variation of his name could pull his concentrated eyes from his beloved journal, tormented with the indenting stabs of a pencil, as the gears in his brain were proffering idea after idea for Friday's upcoming campaign.

Hunched, and creating a divot at the end of his bed where his body weight dug into, a whirlwind of wicked sorcery, turned dark wizards, eventually leading to battling evil cultists had captivated his attention, sparing him from the fact that a girl laid naked his bed.

In his defense, his freckled back had been turned to you, where you sat perched by his pillows, homework in hand. But when angular momentum and torque became boring and sprinkled moles on his skin suddenly became enticing, your teeth sunk into your puckered lip at the moistening realization that Eddie Munson had a strong back.

Large expanse, kissable skin, moving muscles toning at any flexion of his upper body; just oh so utterly, hypnotizingly, leg clenching worthy. So can you really be blamed when the bright idea of being rid of your clothes suddenly came about? No, you can't. In fact, a horny finger could always be pointed to the man, himself, for the reason as to why your underwear got sticky when completing Mrs. Wilson's physics homework.

Because it surely wasn't rotational statistics.

As quiet as could be, your thumbs dipped below the waistband of your shorts, hooking onto the elastic cotton of your underwear, where both articles made the journey down your legs, lifting your ass to make the movement smoothly. Your t-shirt quickly followed, nothing of any trouble, letting your breasts fall free as the universe intended.

You could audibly hear the pencil scribbling the chicken scratch that was your boyfriend's handwriting when you sat up to feel your knees shove into his lumpy mattress; probably some fantastical enchantment that you wouldn't understand, but so deeply care about if it meant seeing Eddie's shining face whenever he'd tell you about it.

Hushed movements led you towards him, where the gentle touch of your fingertips upon his broad shoulders elicited a hum of activation from him. But it hadn't been until your grip tightened, pulling his body back, that his attention was pulled away from his notebook, as he was abruptly being met with the surprise of your cunt hovering over his head, as he hit the mattress.

A book and pencil dropped, as no time was wasted when your body sunk onto his welcoming mouth. Eddie's large hands were quick to snake a hold onto the fat of your ass to have you seated on his lips, encouraging your hips to hump what was yours. That lingering fear of potentially crushing him that he hated was no longer being accepted on his terms.

You were sat.

"Mm, just didn't want- ugh," you gasped, as the sharp tip of his tongue parted your slick folds to pour your juiced into his mouth, "didn't want you to get tunnel vision- fuck, Eddie!"

"Uh-huh!" His moans vibrated through your pussy, as his lips latched onto your pulsating clit, only to abuse it with the suctioning shake of his head. Yours fingers clawed at his bare chest, where your palms found the support to gyrate your hips. "Only vision I see is me in your tunnel."

Unbelievable. Airy chuckles escaped your mouth, as your fingers were brisk to pinch his growing bulge through the stretching material of his sweatpants in retaliation. His legs jolted, attempting to squirm away, as he laughed into your pussy, only drawing more moans from you atop, as his boyish cackles only gave way for more tremoring sensations against your oozing cunt.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Short smut while I find the will to write long smut.

[suguwu]

Mer!jing yuan save me … mer!jing yuan … save me mer!jing yuan

listen i know this is a meme but—

gn!reader, shipwrecks, yandere. minors and ageless blogs dni.

he's been watching the ship.

it moves smoothly through the waters, parts the waves and leaves a quiet trail in its wake. the sails ripple with the wind, a disturbed pond, until they balloon out, full-bellied like the moon. it's well-made, the ship, and well-loved. jing yuan has seen enough ships to know.

and its captain is just as loved.

he's seen how your men respond to you, the way they laugh merrily but follow your orders without question. they cheer your name after you take the helm during a summer storm, the hungry sea breaking against the hull, lightning forking through the sky. after the storm passes, you stand on the deck, chest heaving. the sun peeks out from behind the distant clouds, and you turn your face up towards the watery light. it burnishes you, warms your wet figure into something more.

the ship sails on.

jing yuan follows.

it's easy to keep up despite the wind catching in the sails, his powerful tail coiling and bunching with muscle as he swims, the scales shining like moonlight beneath the water. he keeps his distance, for now.

the ocean favors you, he thinks, with the way sea spray kisses your lips like a lover, catches in your hair, crystalline droplets crowning you. the salt gleams on your skin when you're on deck, glittering in the sunlight as you weave your way through the deckhands.

he has heard the sirens before, the wailing echo of their enchanting song, and he hears them in your voice. it draws him near, closer than he should, peeking out of the water like the moon rising over the horizon to watch you as you get ready for bed, your windows open wide to the expanse of the sea. he watches, and watches, and watches.

the sound of your voice sinks into his bones, slips silken through his blood. he would know it anywhere, can unwind the thread of it from the patchwork quilt of the sea shanties you sing with your crew. he contemplates speaking to you, but he can wait. he knows the path you are taking, his fingertips weaving a current. he knows where it ends.

jing yuan knows patience well.

your laugh shimmers like moonlight on the water as you dance a jig with your first mate, bouncing merrily. the sea laps at the hull of your ship, peaceful and sweet, belaying the tempest it can whip into.

he can taste the storm coming.

it hits that night, the bruised clouds swallowing down the moon, the sea churning, white-capped waves like teeth. the ship is buffeted by the howling wind, sent skipping forward as you yell to your crew, voice firm. it is only because he knows you so well that he can recognize the waver to it.

the storm grows.

it catches the ship in its teeth, drags it to and fro like a dog with a bone. you yell until your voice goes hoarse, rasps like the waves against the pebbles of the shore. the ship keels under the press of a hungry wave. jing yuan hums to himself, the sound lost to the storm, and dives.

beneath the roiling surface, the ocean welcomes him, the currents tickling against his powerful body as he keeps pace with the ship. the current he'd spun swirls around him like a tapestry, warm and familiar.

it does not take long to see them.

his mother the sea has whittled the rocks into gravemakers to feed her unceasing hunger. beneath the surface lies the wreckage of several ships, rotting in the ocean's maw. they are barnacled, wicked-mouthed things, the gravemaker rocks, pointed like spears and dark enough to meld with the ocean's blackened surface. the current ripples around them.

they rend your ship asunder.

they tear through the wood like teeth to meat, ripping through the hull with a ravenous bite. the sea howls her delight as the hull splinters; the water rushes in, eager to devour. as he surfaces, watching, waiting, jing yuan can hear your voice pitched with fervor, lined with a well-hidden panic.

a wave rises and crashes into the ship, pinning it further onto the rocks. the hull gives. it folds into itself like a paper crane crushed in clumsy fingers; the water swallows it.

jing yuan knows the second you hit the water.

he calls the current to him, following its beckoning fingers with just a few pulses of his powerful tail. he surfaces to find you floating amid the wreckage, blood seeping from a few scrapes and scratches.

he hums and gathers you into his arms; lets the warmth of your skin sink into him. you stir for only a breath before sinking back into unconsciousness. but your heartbeat is strong and steady.

jing yuan wraps himself around you and dives again. he has been patient enough.

this is always where your path was leading.

[veronicaphoenix]

fairy dust series ✨ au — part one: the wicked fairy | wc: 3.5k

— read the prelude here

pairing: faeoliver! x ivy (ofc) x kitsune!noah summary: oliver comes back ten years later to take 18-year-old ivy away tags & trigger warnings: age gap, mentioned body image issues, mentioned parents' neglect, implied school bullying, mentions of kidnapping, implied virginity of the main female character, descriptions of nudity and one single mention of oliver having an erection (no sexual content beyond that and ivy feeling something at the sight of oliver naked), oh, and also, oliver's dick glows ✨ that's it, i think 🤭 my works 🌙

The Wicked Fairy ೃ༄*ੈ

The clock ticks midnight. 

            It’s her birthday. She’s eighteen.

            She waits to feel something, to feel different, but everything remains the same as she sits on her bed with a pale-blue summer dress on. There’s a nervous tic on her leg and she’s biting her bottom lip as she waits for the thing—the creature—she’s been expecting since she was eight. 

            Outside, only the occasional bark of a distant dork and the howling wind break the silence. 

            She’s tempted to get up and open the window. Maybe he cannot enter if it’s closed. Perhaps—

            But then, she hears the bells.

            There’s a shift in the air. 

            Her heartbeat speeds up.

            When she turns her head, she spots a dark figure looming in the shadowed corner of the room. 

            He made a promise to her ten years ago, and he’s kept it.

            He’s here, in her room. 

            When he steps out of the darkness into the moonlit area of the room, she swallows hard. He is as tall as she remembers, as impressive and breathtaking as the first—and only—time she ever saw him. His eyes shine like emeralds, his smile wicked and dangerous. 

            She is the one who has changed. She is no longer an eight-year-old child. Her legs and arms have lengthened, her features have matured, her hair has grown longer. Her curves are now perfectly delineated, her body filled out gracefully. 

            She is more beautiful than he ever imagined, though she doesn’t believe it herself. 

            “Miss me?” he asks, the first words spoken as their eyes finally meet. 

            Yes, she wants to say, but her throat feels dry, making speech difficult at first. 

            She has missed him. It seems silly considering she only saw him for a brief five minutes, but she would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him—about his green eyes and the fox at his back—every year, every single day, since that moment in the woods. 

            She’s spent the last decade trying to find a way to call him, hoping he would find her and take her away. Desperation often clawed at her, days when tears flowed freely and the pain of her surroundings threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted him so badly that she dreamed of him, of the promise he made, of the things he said he would show her and make her feel. 

            She longed to feel something good.

            When years passed and she realized there was nothing she could do to summon him, after countless afternoons escaping to the woods and hours spent with her bare feet walking to the same spot where she had met him, she began to visit the library, began reading, researching, gathering all the information she could about beings like him. 

            What she discovered was far different from the images her bedtimes stories had painted. 

            Fairies were charming, sure, and they had that twinkling in their eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. But underneath that twinkling, there was a predatory instinct. Ivy had seen it, but at eight, she hadn’t been old enough to recognize it. Fairies had captivating smiles, but their teeth were sharp, needle-like. Their voices were melodic and sweet, yet carried a sinister, haunting whisper. And worst of all, their favorite pastime was luring innocent children with enchanting promises, only to whisk them away to a realm where time moved differently, and escape was nearly impossible. 

            Fairies, as Ivy learned over the years, were more than mere mortals yet less than gods; creatures of boundless magic and capricious wills; their hearts were as wild as the forests they inhabited; and they were driven by dark desires.           

            Ivy should have been scared, but the real world had shown her so much cruelty that, whenever she pictured the fairy in her mind or found him in her dreams, she longed to be taken to his world. No fear, no doubts. She was willing to leave her own world behind and trust whatever promises he made. It was a risk she was willing to take—a risk she had been waiting for a decade to take. 

            Oliver doesn’t expect a reply. He extends his arm toward her, offering his hand. 

            If she hesitates, it’s only for a moment. She remembers the things her classmates told her the day before, and in a second, her hand is in Oliver’s. His is large and his fingers are slender, which make her hand seem even smaller in his grasp. 

Fifteen minutes later, they stand at the edge of the forest. 

            It hasn’t been a long walk from her parents’ house, but the night is cold and she’s only wearing a thin dress. She rubs her arms for warmth as they quietly walk through the trees. Suddenly, Oliver stops, and she nearly collides with his wide back.

            Straight ahead, she can only see darkness. The moonlight has forsaken them, casting its glow on other parts of the forest. Insects hum unseen, and creatures scurry through the underbrush. The forest looks different from all the other times she’s been here, perhaps because she never came at night. 

            Doubt creeps in as she glances over her shoulder at the distant lights of the town.           

            “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Oliver says. 

            She turns to look at him. His eyes seem to shine even in the dark, and the grin is plastered on his face. 

            After all, he’s getting what he wanted, isn’t it? 

            He’s taking the girl with him, to his world. 

            Voices echo in her head: her mother’s disappointment, her father’s negligence, the mocking laughter of her classmates, the pitiful look of her teachers. She is ready to leave all that behind, but is she willing to leave everything else? 

            Her hesitation does not escape him. He senses her doubt, her emotions bubbling just beneath her skin. 

            His fingers trace a delicate line up her arm, from wrist to shoulder, drawing her focus back to him. 

            “Promise you’ll make everything better,” she whispers, her voice fragile. 

            Oliver huffs, almost amused.  

            “I can promise you that, but I know other ways to take that indecision away from you.”

            “Then, do it. Take it away.”

            Take me away. 

            His hands cradle her face, and before she can catch her breath, his lips claim hers. He kisses her hungrily, savoring her lips before teasing her sensitive skin. The fervor of the kiss makes her dizzy. She’s unaware of her own hands finding their way to the front of his black t-shirt, clutching it in fists. 

            The intensity of the kiss is unlike anything she had ever known. Oliver tastes like a promise, pouring his commitment into her with each press of his plump lips. His need for her is palpable. She understands then that whatever he felt for her that day in the woods has always been there; it has grown, deepened, become something undeniable, something he can’t live without. He’s not lying. The primal possessiveness in his eyes when he looks at her is genuine. He wants her. And he’s willing to do anything, give her anything, to keep her with him. Forever. 

            “Still doubtful?” Amusement laces his voice as he pulls away, his hands still holding her face. His tongue licks at his lower lip, and she is mesmerized by the way it catches the remnants of her own saliva. 

            Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes hypnotized by the way the tip of his tongue teases her. Whatever he’s done to her, it’s working. 

            She doesn’t want her old world anymore. 

            She wants new, different. She wants light and love, glitter and colors. 

            Maybe she’s bewitched, intoxicated, hallucinating. 

            She doesn’t care. 

            It feels too good. 

            She wants Oliver, the wicked fairy. 

            She takes a step forward, closing the distance between her and the fairy again. She rises onto her tiptoes and hangs herself from Oliver’s neck, pressing her chest to him as she arches into him. 

            “Lead the way. Now.”

            A wicked smile spreads across his face, fangs gleaming down at her.   

Crossing the darkness feels like a voyage through the deepest parts of a forgotten dream. Ivy clings to Oliver’s hand, her heart thrumming in her chest as her eyes try uselessly to adjust to the darkness. Shadows dance and twist, forming ethereal shapes that seem to guide their path. The darkness is different from the one she’s known; this darkness wraps around her like a velvety cloak, full of secrets and hidden wonders.

            Ivy steps out of the darkness, one step behind Oliver. 

            She feels warm.

            The world that opens up in front of her is bathed in a golden glow; everything shines with an ethereal light. As her head tilts up, glitter seems to fall from the sky like delicate rain, and iridescent butterflies fly about, their wings shimmering in the air. The scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth fills her lungs, a perfume so intoxicating she feels her very soul awaken. 

            Oliver watches her, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he sees the wonder and awe in her eyes. All his suspicions are instantly cleared—this is where she belongs, here, with him. 

            With a gentle hand, he guides her along a winding path, here butterflies and other creatures she doesn’t recognize yet alight on her arms as if drawn to her innate magic. The bushes rustle with unseen creatures, their presence a silent welcome, while rays of sunlight filter through the towering trees. These ancient giants seem to bow their heads towards her, as though acknowledging her as their queen. 

            In less than ten minutes, Ivy feels a powerful current stirring within her. It’s as if the very essence of the forest is merging with her spirit, filling her with a sense of belonging and peace. She feels like she’s at home. 

            Oliver leads Ivy to an open space where a hidden oasis reveals itself in all its splendor. Before them lies a small, pristine lake, its waters so clear and vibrant they seem to capture the very essence of the sky. On their side of the lake, an area of golden sand forms a secret beach, inviting and warm. At the back, a majestic waterfall cascades down from a small mountain, hinting at a vast, magical kingdom beyond. The greenery around them is lush, saturated with life; birds sing melodious tunes from the branches above and every leaf and flower seems to shimmer with its own inner light. 

            Ivy slips off her sandals, abandoning them carelessly to the side. She steps into the golden sand, feeling its warmth envelop her feet, the grains shifting and moving through her toes. She can’t stop smiling, her heart swelling with joy. Slowly, she begins to turn, taking in the breathtaking beauty around her, absorbing every detail. 

            Lost in the moment, she doesn’t notice Oliver approaching from behind.

            His hands find her hips, halting her spin. His touch sends shivers down her spine, and his warmth, hot breath tickles her ear as he whispers, “I’ve waited an eternity for this. Welcome home, Ivy.” 

            She closes her eyes, the words wrapping around her like a warm blanket. In that instant, she knows she won’t regret what she’s done, leaving everything behind for an eternal promise. 

            Ivy begins to explore the oasis, her fingers brushing against the vibrant plants and flowers that seem to bloom just for her. She inhales deeply, the scents of jasmine and honeysuckle filling her senses. She marvels at the towering trees, their leaves shimmering in the light, and she strokes the soft fur of strange, beautiful rabbits that hop around her, welcoming her with gentle nudges.

            Lost in the wonder of her surroundings, Ivy turns and finds Oliver in the water, his clothes nowhere in sight. His hair clings to his forehead, droplets of water cascading down his tattooed skin, which seems to glow with an otherworldly light. He looks like a god, every inch of him exuding an ethereal allure.

            “Care to join me?” he asks cheekily from the distance, his voice carrying a playful lilt.

            Still too shy, Ivy shakes her head, opting instead to sit on the warm sand and watch him. Oliver swims with effortless grace, tilting his head back and using his hands to slick his hair away from his face. The sight of him stirs something deep within her, a warmth that begins in the pit of her stomach and spreads to a more intimate place.

            After a while, Oliver decides he’s had enough. He steps out of the water, and to Ivy’s shock, he is completely naked. 

            His entire body glows softly, but it is his erection that draws her gaze, radiating a mesmerizing light. She’s never seen a man naked before, much less a fairy god.

            She feels her breath catch, the scene before her both stunning and surreal. Oliver walks towards her with a serene confidence, the glowing of his cock mirrored in the brightness of his perfect smile.

            He’s acutely aware of what he’s doing to her, but as he approaches her spot on the sand, he makes no attempt to intimidate her further. He flops down beside her, letting his back sink into the warm grains, sending droplets of water her way. The cool spray feels refreshing, and she wonders if she should have joined him in the lake. Perhaps the situation would have been too enticing, too tempting for her to resist swimming to him, wrapping herself around him, and asking him to make her his, for eternity.

            With a deep breath, she lays down next to him. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be inhaling the peace and the sweet scent of nature. He is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen, and she takes in every detail of his profile, every mark on his face, every curve and sharp angle, every freckle that adorns his skin.

            “See something you like?” he suddenly asks, popping an eye open and tilting his head slightly towards her. There’s sand stuck in his hair, but he doesn’t care.

            “Yes,” she says bravely. “You.”

            Oliver smiles, his teeth gleaming. She just stares at him.

            “Why did you not take me away when I was eight?” she asks suddenly.

            Oliver frowns for a moment, then shifts to lay on his stomach, resting on his forearms. His back, butt, and legs are covered in a layer of sand.

            “Because then you would have stayed a child forever. I prefer you like this: a woman.” As he says this, his hand goes to Ivy’s shoulder, and he slowly, tentatively, slides down a strap of her blue dress. 

            She holds her breath. 

            He stops, looks up at her, and waits for a sign.

            She gives it to him.

            He undresses her, indicating for her to lift her arms, and he helps her out of her dress, taking it off, leaving her in her panties. He doesn’t touch her just yet, letting her get accustomed to her quasi-absolute nakedness. Her breasts are perky and pink, soft and inviting. A blush has crept up her cheeks, her hair falling in separate strands along her back and front. She is beautiful. Oliver wants to do nothing but adore her, with all his wickedness and the love he’s got for her. It doesn’t matter that he’s done bad things before. He will find redemption in her.

            Without an indication from him, she hooks her fingers in the hem of her panties and slides them off her legs. And then, she’s naked, lying next to him, uncomfortable in her own body, just the same sensation that has plagued her since her teenage years. The cruel human world had frequently reminded her of her imperfections—curves deemed too large, shapes that were ugly, and every other aspect of her body that seemed out of place according to others’ perceptions.

            She can’t take the intensity of Oliver’s green orbs that seem to tell her that she’s actually perfect, so she closes her eyes and waits. 

            She doesn’t have to wait for long.

            First, it’s a daisy, placed on her navel, then another bunch of flowers follow, all kinds of flowers that Oliver places all over her stomach and chest, covering her in a floral blanket. He also places some in her hair, smiling all the while, as if this is the most fun he’s had in a long time.

            When she feels calmer, more settled and comfortable, knowing that Oliver won’t touch her further than to adore her and worship her with flowers, she opens her eyes, falling in love with the green of his eyes a little bit more.

            “You’re so pretty,” she breathes out as he continues placing flowers; on her thighs this time.

            “Am I?” he asks, but he already knows. He’s fully aware of his beauty and charm.

            She wants to slap him, but she knows he would stop her before her hand reached his skin. He laughs at her reaction, a quiet but deep laugh. He touches her lips with his thumb.

            “As I said: poisonous.”

            She doesn’t know, but he’s beyond infatuated with her. He wants her. He loves her. He wants to explore her, once, twice, thrice, over and over again. He wants to show her everything he has to offer, make her feel more than humans could ever give her, more than she could ever experience.

            But there will be time for that. 

            For now, he just lays his head on the sand, his left cheek sinking into it, and closes his eyes, content to be by her side.

            “You never told me your name,” she mentions, shifting onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow to reach his back. The flowers on her stomach cascade gently onto the sand. She yearns to touch him, and so she does, beginning by brushing away the patches of sand still clinging to his skin.

            He mumbles something, as if gradually drifting into slumber. 

            “Oliver,” he murmurs eventually.

            “Oliver,” she repeats, and then she chuckles softly.

            Oliver stirs beneath her, attempting to catch her gaze over his shoulder. “What’s funny?”

            “The Old French form of Oliver is Olivier, derived from the Germanic name Alfher, meaning elf army, a warrior.” She pauses, a tender smile gracing her lips. “It seems fitting.”

            He raises his eyebrows for a moment, contemplating her words. “Well, I can’t deny I’ve battled the urge to kidnap you for the last decade and held myself back. I suppose that does make me a warrior.”

            He is a warrior.

            “My warrior,” she murmurs, savoring the sweetness of the words on her lips. He smiles against the sand, content that she acknowledges the truth: he belongs to her.

            As she continues to delicately brush the sand from his back, she notices something that catches her breath. She must have made a sound because Oliver lifts his head again and looks at her.

            “Ivy?”

            “There’s...” she starts to say, her eyes fixed on a spot on his back, then scanning over his entire back. “The fox... is gone.”

            “Oh,” he says after a moment, relaxing his shoulders.

            Why is he not concerned?

            “It’s not a fox,” he corrects, reclining again. “It’s a Kitsune; a naughty one, I must say.”

            Her words stutter out, “Where— Where has he gone?”

       ��    Oliver glances around, then shrugs nonchalantly. “He can’t be far. He was quite eager about today. He’s probably waiting for you to play with him.”

            “Play?”

            “Yes, Noah is quite the playful one,” he elaborates with a knowing smile, the corners of his lips curving like crescent moons in the twilight while Ivy blinks, apprehensive yet yearning to meet him—to meet Noah. “He delights in playing tricks, so be cautious.”

            The more Oliver talks, the more Ivy’s confusion swirls, like mist in a forest clearing. He had promised there wouldn’t be anything to be afraid of, that he would keep her safe.

            “Why should I be ca—?”

            “Well,” he cuts her off, “he’s adept at the art of seduction, and I suspect he’s quite intent on seducing you.”

            Oh, she thinks. A soft exhale eases her tense shoulders. She should be worried about falling into another magical creature’s trap. But the memory of the fox’s gaze—the kitsune’s, the warmth it had radiated in the woods when she first met Oliver, soothes her uncertainty; the reassurance the animal sent her way a decade ago seemed to tell her that everything would be okay, that she would be showered in affection and love when the time came. 

            The time had come. The time was now.

            An urgent need to find Noah surges through her, stirring butterflies that flutter both in her stomach and around her. Perhaps they’re there to guide her.

            Before rising to search, she hesitates, casting an uneasy glance down at Oliver. 

            “But— Will you allow him—? Allow me—?” 

            “Sure,” he replies before her words fully form. “Only if you desire it, of course,” his touch on her knee is reassuring. “But first, warm up to him, get to know each other.”

            Already pulling on her dress and panties, Ivy asks hurriedly, “How are we supposed to do that? I don’t even know where he is.”

            Oliver’s response comes with a cryptic smile, his eyes full of mischief.

            “That’s precisely how you begin: by seeking,” he explains. “Find him, Ivy. Find Noah. He’s been waiting for you, too.”

→ next part ✨ | my works 🌙

Taglist is open. Drop a comment or message me if you want to be tagged in part two and three :)

Taglist: @somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @poppy-in-the-woods | @blessedwithabadomen | @dsireland86 | @bluestdai | @poisongirl616 |

[ravenshavenn]

Ssshhh

Inspired by @zephahhhh so all credit to them :)

NSFW Snape X gender-neutral reader imagine (Snape's pov)

Summary - helping Snape relax after a long day (tw- blowjob, crying, first time, swearing)

The office blurred and Severus heard himself gasp.

"Are you alright?" a soft voice rang out.

Kneeling between his spread legs Y/n looked gorgeous. They had rested a gentle hand on Severus's thigh. Blinking those large doe eyes hypnotically up at him. It was enchanting.

"Yes." was all he could manage. Voice hoarse and shaky.

"Good." They practically whispered back. "Because I was just starting to get comfortable."

Feather light touches of Y/n' s fingers trailed up Severus thigh. And The poor potions master resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut at the sensation. Would this be a good time to tell them he'd never done this before? Or would that be to much?

"Merlin, I've wanted to do this for months." Y/n purred working the buttons of his trousers.

The confession broke Severus train of thought, sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his already hard cock. He whined jolting forwards slightly. Panting heavily. His dark eyes blown wide. Normally pale cheeks flushed slightly. This was incredible. Was this what he'd been missing out on all these years?

Y/n looked up at him again devilishly "So responsive." They praised him "It's incredible."

Severus swallowed thickly, struggling to find the words to respond. All he could focus on was the now rhythmic throbbing of his cock.

However, Y/n seemed to be done studying him. Instead with an oddly, heart-warming, gentle touch they pulled his boxers aside and brought out his member. Severus sucked in another sharp breath.

His cock was already leaking a sticky trail of pre-come. The tip hot to the touch and an angry reddish purple.

Admittedly Severus's useral rampant anxious thoughts were silenced by the way Y/n was looking at him. They seemed almost transfixed. Sending a much needed boost to Severus shrivelled ego.

That was before they moved. Abruptly they lent forward, sticking out their tongue to lick a trail from base to tip. Severus did buck his hips then. Letting out a hiss through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut. Y/n only smirked.

"You taste incredible." They mumbled leaning in, inhaling his musk. Severus could only moan again. Feeling as soft kitten licks lathered the underside of his head.

"I-I good!" Severus gasped out between pants.

His hips moved at their own pace now, bucking up into the soft licks. Then without warning Y/n took Severus fully into their mouth. The heat engulfed him and he cried out.

Surely nothing could compare to this. His hand would never satisfy the same again.

Every pass was like a shock of electricity straight to his gut. His head swimming and foggy with the feeling.

It must have only taken Y/n once, twice, three passes before Severus almost screamed. A stream of bitter seed ran down Y/n's throat. A desperate hand made its way into Y/n's hair and they moaned.

Panting heavily Severus opened his eyes. They were glass and watering. His breath coming out in ragged gulps.

"sshhhh" Y/n soothed softly still on their knees. "Relax for me."

Severus nodded lazily. The tears begining to stream down his red cheeks, over his parted lips.

It was as though he was floating, the safest he'd felt in years. Then he noticed Y/n's wicked smirk.

"Want to go again?"

[songofsoma]

until you see stars

pairing: karlach x f!tav words: 2,402 rating: explicit

read it on ao3

“I have something for you upstairs.”

She turned the words over in her mind as Daefina lingered outside the closed door. Karlach had disappeared into the room after making her promise to wait a few minutes before entering—apparently, it all had to be perfect. 

Daefina thought Karlach was already perfect. 

She had listened wordlessly to the sound of rustling fabric as she presumed clothes were being dropped to the floor. Her mouth salivated at the thought of her girlfriend’s bare body just on the other side of the door. 

Was she naked, though? Or was the surprise some sort of lingerie? Karlach in a strappy leather number that covered absolutely nothing flitted across her imagination. If it weren’t that, Daefina would have to change that soon. 

“Okay, you can come in.” Karlach’s voice filtered through into the hallway. Even muffled, she could hear the nerves intertwined with every word. It only piqued her curiosity more. 

Daefina slowly pushed the door open, making it a point to linger in the doorway as the anticipation in the room built. When she finally looked to see what awaited her, her breath caught in her throat. 

There sat Karlach on the edge of a four-poster bed. Her body was bare besides the harness around her hips, the black dildo swaying as she fidgeted. Golden eyes were wide with anxiety and excitement. 

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Daefina was too busy burning the image before her to memory. She wished she had a lick of artistic talent to memorialize the scene before her so that she could look at it whenever she desired. 

“Do you…like it?” Karlach asked tentatively.

Daefina shut the door tightly behind her, flipping the lock into place for good measure. No one was going to interrupt them tonight. 

“Do I like it?” she parroted, coming closer to Karlach until she stood between her legs. “I think this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Hands rested on muscular shoulders, Karlach’s skin hot to the touch as usual. 

Karlach caught Daefina’s hips, large hands splayed over her ass. “Gods, I’m glad. I was worried it would scare you off.”

Her eyes dropped from her face to the strap between them. There was something odd about it. Almost as if it were encapsulated by some sort of magical aura. Curiously, Daefina circled the tip with a finger and gawked as Karlach’s hips jolted and a harsh breath was sucked in through her teeth. 

“Paid extra for an enchantment that lets me feel everything,” she said through gritted teeth as Daefina stroked the shaft. “Definitely not used to that.”

A wicked smile curled Daefina’s lips. Slowly, she began to loosen the ties in the front of her corset top before inviting Karlach to be the one to undress her. 

Piece by piece, Karlach discarded the druid’s clothes, fingers trembling in anticipation as she did so until Daefina stood before her naked. 

“This may have been my surprise,” Daefina murmured, leaning down so her lips brushed Karlach’s ear. “But I am going to make you come so many times you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” She nibbled on her earlobe and between that and her sultry words Karlach groaned. 

“I am so fucked.” She heard her mutter, much to her amusement, fingers flexing on Daefina’s hips.

Daefina began to drag slow kisses down her neck, gently scraping her teeth against the tender flesh. She could hear Karlach’s breathing turn uneven when she sucked on a particular spot and she didn’t stop until there was a dark bruise left behind, marking Karlach as hers. 

Pleased with herself, Daefina pulled away, enjoying the hazy look in Karlach’s heavy-lidded eyes. That gaze turned curious when she dropped to her knees and pulled the tiefling’s hips closer to the edge of the bed. 

“I bet I can make you come just like this,” Daefina teased as she lightly ran her finger up and down the base of the toy. “Since you can feel every single thing.”

Proving her point, Karlach’s thighs already clenched around her at the smallest of touches. 

With a grin, Daefina leaned forward to brush a soft kiss against the tip, never breaking eye contact. Karlach swallowed hard. Then, as her hand wrapped around the base to keep it steady, Daefina bent her head and swirled her tongue around the plastic head. 

A strangled noise left Karlach and her hips bucked, but Daefina’s hands kept her in place. 

She dragged her tongue up her cock once, twice, and then a third until Karlach squirmed. 

Finally, her lips wrapped around the toy as she took it into her mouth, not minding the saliva that had already dribbled from her mouth to trail down her cock and pooling on her hand. When she began to bob her head, Karlach’s moans filled the room. 

“Fuck, baby,” she cried out, a hand going to grip Daefina’s hair, but then deciding against it. It was clear she wasn’t sure what to do. 

Daefina fumbled for that hand and placed it on the back of her head, inviting Karlach to use her for her own pleasure. 

Clawed fingers threaded through her hair. She was glad she had undone her braids earlier that night so she could feel the sting in her scalp as Karlach tugged at the loose tendrils. 

Her moans and gasps were making things hotter by the second. Daefina could feel her thighs becoming slick as her desire surmounted with every erotic noise. She would finish Karlach off like this and then ride her until she saw stars. And from the way things were looking, it wouldn’t be long.

Planting her hands on both Karlach’s thighs, Daefina braced herself before taking as much of her cock as she could. She gagged around the toy which made Karlach shudder and openly gape at her.

Using the hand wrapped in her hair, Karlach guided Daefina’s head up, marveling at the line of spit that clung to the tip and her mouth as she came up for air. 

“Are you okay?” Karlach asked, bewildered.

Daefina snorted. “I’ve gagged on a hot woman’s strap before. But not one that can feel every little thing.” Hands caressed the sides of her thighs. “And not one that I was madly in love with.”

The look on her face softened and she smiled. Quickly, she leaned down to catch Daefina’s wet lips in a kiss, hands cradling her cheeks. 

Daefina hummed into the kiss, allowing for a moment of sweetness. That was until Karlach’s breathing stuttered as her hand began to pump the length of the cock. 

“You want me to finish you off just like this?” she murmured, eyes still closed as their lips were a whisper apart. Her other hand curled around the back of Karlach’s neck, keeping her in place. 

Frantically she nodded while muttering something about being close.

The hand on her neck fell away and slipped between Karlach’s legs. The harness had left her cunt still exposed, allowing Daefina to easily push two fingers inside her from just how wet she was. She wanted to feel Karlach come around her hand, wanted to feel just how much she affected her. It helped that she had access to finger her while still taking advantage of the enchantment whatever wonderful wizard sold Karlach. 

Karlach moaned and bucked and shook as her orgasm rocked her. She was gasping for air like she had never breathed before in her life. Claws gripped the sheets so tightly, that Daefina was surprised the fabric didn’t tear. 

She let Karlach regain herself as she planted kisses on sweaty thighs before removing her fingers so she could taste her prize. Karlach hadn’t seemed to notice as she slowly re-entered the plane of existence. 

“So, I’m guessing the enchantment was worth it, hmm?” she teased.

Karlach looked down at her and nodded. “Fuck yeah. Never experienced anything like that ever.”

“That’s good.” Daefina rose and planted a hand on the center of Karlach’s chest. “Because I’m just getting started.”

Her eyes widened as Daefina climbed onto her lap, arms winding around her neck to kiss her passionately. Fingers tangled into Karlach’s coarse black hair, tugging gently to force soft groans to echo in the back of her throat. 

“Am I not allowed to fuck you now?” Karlach joked as lips found her neck once more.

“Not yet.” Her words were muffled by skin as she was concentrating on leaving another hickey next to its predecessor. 

When she was satisfied with her work, Daefina pulled back and looked between them. Using Karlach as leverage, she adjusted so she knelt just above the toy. With one hand keeping it steady, she slowly sank onto it, their moans melding together until their hips met. 

“Oh hells,” Karlach gasped, hands gripping Daefina’s hips for dear life. “There’s no way I’m going to last long.”

Chuckled breathlessly, Daefina rocked her hips experimentally, watching as Karlach’s face twisted in pleasure. Just grinding their hips together was maddening and knowing she could feel every inch of her was euphoric.

Finally, she pushed herself up, drawing out the motion to maximize the feeling, and sank back down.

“Fuck,” Karlach rasped, those hands holding her moved to cup her ass as Daefina set a steady pace, dragging out each movement. 

She allowed Karlach to aid her at a quicker pace, taking advantage of the strength in her arms from years of swinging battleaxes. 

Daefina ignored the burning strain in her thighs. Every muscle in her legs began to ache with the exertion. She would not let up, not until she was finished. 

Karlach’s hips moved to meet hers with every thrust as she searched for that second impending climax. Daefina could see it written all over her face in the way her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and the line between furrowed brows. Her breathing was labored as she buried her face in Daefina’s breasts to muffle the sounds of ecstasy unable to be contained by traitorous lips. 

“Fina—” Her cry was smothered by skin. And finally, the hands that had been guiding her pulled Daefina’s hips down hard to meet hers as she came, shoulders quivering. 

Daefina soothingly stroked Karlach’s hair, rolling her hips to milk out every last bit of pleasure, loving the way she shuddered with every movement. 

When she was steady enough to sit up once more, a dazed look still hung in her eye. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She shrugged with an innocent smile. “I hope not, I’m not finished.” 

Karlach allowed herself to be shoved back onto the mattress, amusement glittering in her amber gaze. She scooted back so her legs no longer hung off the bed and that her lover would have better leverage.

“At least kiss me first before you use me, she teased, fingers dancing over Daefina’s hips and thighs. 

Who was she to deny such a request? 

Daefina leaned forward, hands planted on either side of Karlach’s head, and she kissed her sweetly. “I love you,” she whispered after a moment and felt Karlach’s lips turn into a smile. 

“Happy to hear that with the way you’re torturing me.”

She laughed, pulling herself back up as hands came to rest on the ridges of muscle carved into her stomach. “Oh yeah, you hate this so much, huh?” Just for added effect, Daefina ground her hips into hers. It made Karlach’s smugness break with a throaty groan. 

“Okay, maybe it isn’t so bad,” she rasped, hands clutching her thighs for dear life. 

“Good, because I’m not stopping until I come too.”

There was no time to answer as she pushed herself up again and eased herself back down. Karlach, still being sensitive, arched her back with a gasp. It only egged Daefina on.

She bounced herself at as steady of pace as she could manage, her poor legs begging for a reprieve soon. But she was too occupied chasing her impending orgasm. 

Daefina tipped her head back, moaning and groping her own breasts. Pinching and twisting her nipples for added sensation. Frustratingly, it wasn’t enough. 

“Touch me, Karlach. Please ,” she whimpered. 

“Gods,” Karlach groaned. “My name in your mouth is so sexy.” She obeyed, a hand sneaking in between Daefina’s legs to begin rubbing her clit.

Her cries intensified as pleasure surged through her body. She was so close she could almost taste her release.

“That’s it, baby. Use me,” Karlach groaned, drinking in every little detail. 

A feeling like lightning shot through her as she tipped over the edge into ecstasy. Her vision blurred and her limbs went numb as she collapsed against Karlach’s chest, heaving and gasping for air. 

It was Karlach’s turn to soothe her, a hand caressing her back as she nuzzled the top of her head. 

“I don’t think I’ve had an orgasm like that in ages,” Daefina finally whispered. Her words were still broken as she struggled to even out her breathing. 

Karlach barked a laugh. “You’re fucking telling me.”

Slowly, Daefina pushed herself up to look at her, nearly melting at the adoration inscribed on every inch of her face. She kissed her again, long and slow, savoring every second their breaths melded into one. 

Hands slid up Daefina’s back, sharp nails lightly scratching the skin. It made her shiver.

Karlach’s kisses slipped from her lips to move to the corner of her mouth and then her jaw. “Another round?” she murmured. 

It was Daefina’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, but you have to fuck me instead, my legs are tired.”

Words turned into a squeal as she was rolled off and onto her back. Karlach hovered over her, their bodies flush against one another. “I think I can live with that. Why do you think I work out so much?”

“Oh, is that the reason you wake me up every morning grunting outside our tent to do pushups?” she asked with a grin, a fingertip tracing over the slope of Karlach’s nose. “The first time you got me all excited, only to find out you were just exercising.” Daefina rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I think I can make that up to you. I refuse to leave a lady disappointed,” Karlach proclaimed before catching Daefina’s lips in a kiss once more, prepared to prove just how worth it those early morning pushups were.

[lanafofana]

Cuckoo for a Cuckhold

(I forgot to take screenshots of daddy zevlor so have this instead, it still fits cause...well you'll see)

Just under the wire (depending on your timezone) DAY 5 for HalsinTavWeek has come crashing through the finish line! But Lana! Where is Day 4's prompt?? Shhhh, my beauties, it's sleeping.

Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F)/Zevlor Summary: It's a special occasion. Halsin wants to watch someone rail his wife. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warning/Tags: Modern AU, Cuckholding, smut, masturbation, established relationship, banter, P in V sex, innapropriate use of tiefling tail, consensual kink No beta, we die like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And lo, an AO3 link for thee

Sitting at a gaudy bar, heavy bass music thumping loud enough to make him regret having ears, and drinking some of the worst swill he’s ever tasted, Zevlor was not having a great time.

Despite being the only patron physically sitting at the bar the bartender seemed pathologically incapable of giving him the time of day. When he tries to wave him down and the man, yet again, turns to someone else walking up to order something, the tiefling grits his teeth, tail lashing and resists the overwhelming urge to give him the stern talking to he so richly deserves. 

“Excuse me,” says a warm friendly voice. “We noticed you across the bar and really dig your vibe. Would you be interested in fucking my wife?” 

Caught in the middle of draining his glass, the last sip of lager slips down the wrong pipe and Zevlor chokes, coughing and sputtering. Regaining his composure he wipes his mouth and turns to look at who’s approached him just in time to see the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen smack her hand against the thick bicep of, easily, the largest man he’s ever seen.

“Not like that!” The woman chastises with a mortified smile. When she turns her attention to Zevlor he feels his earlier irritation fade as if she contained some innate ability to soothe the ruffled feathers of grumpy old men. She hands him a napkin which he uses to dab at his chin while he eyes the pair expectantly. 

“Sorry,” she was explaining, with an exasperated glance at her husband. “He was raised by wolves.” 

“Bears,” the man corrects. 

“My heart, my love, pleasestophelping!” The man grins, pecking her on the head and settling himself down on a stool miming the action of zipping his lips and placing the invisible key in her hand. “What he means to, er, say is hello, I’m Tav and this is Halsin.” 

Zevlor reaches out and gently takes her hand in his, gallantly lowering his lips to her knuckles. “Zevlor, my dear,” he intones mildly, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Enchanted.” 

“Oh!” Tav’s nervous smile softens, pleasantly surprised with the little display of chivalry. She looks lovely, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, a soft blush dusting her cheeks and he’s amused that she only thinks of withdrawing her hand when he lightly squeezes it. 

“I believe you were making a proposition?” He asks wryly, eyes flicking to the man behind her, who hasn’t stopped watching the proceedings with interest. 

Tav coughs,”Right.” Then, cheeks remaining stubbornly flushed she proceeds to stumble through the most charmingly awkward come-on Zevlor’s ever witnessed, let alone received. 

“You two are terrible at this,” he remarks not unkindly when she’s finished and Halsin stifles a laugh. 

“Practice makes perfect,” defends Tav with a sniff but she looks just as amused as her husband. “What do you say, Zevlor?” The heat in her eyes could have scorched him where he sat. 

“It would be my absolute pleasure.” At his wicked smile the petite woman grins and takes his hand, tugging him along behind her while Halsin settles the tab. 

They don’t go far, which is just as well considering the electric tension that practically fizzes into view everytime they catch each other’s eye. The fancy hotel they’re staying at already has a reservation in Tav’s name and the three manage to get all the way to the elevator before Zevlor’s tail snakes around her waist to yank her close enough to kiss. 

Hands snake up his chest to find purchase on his shoulders and he barely swipes his tongue across her lips before she opens up for him, moaning prettily as their tongues glide against each other.  

His hands on her waist travel down, untucking her shirt roughly. He slips his thumbs just below the waistband of her short skirt to trace circles on the sensitive skin of her hips, an action that earns him a particularly lewd moan that he greedily swallows with his tongue and teeth. His tail wraps around her leg and snakes upward towards her skirt and when he traces the warm damp line between her legs she shudders. 

“I know you don’t mind if I enjoy the show but I feel obligated to point out that this elevator has cameras,” says Halsin and Tav jerks back in alarm. Zevlor chuckles while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding from the camera’s view, the tips of her ears burning brightly. Reluctantly he removes his tail from her skirt though he does take a moment to trail the tip down the back of her thigh as he does so.

Soon enough the door to the suite is shut behind them and Tav leads him by the hand to an impressive bedroom with a wall of floor to ceiling windows that reveal a breathtaking view. A sea of city lights spreading out into the distance, a cluster of artificial stars outshining the night sky.

Tav puts a finger under his chin to direct his attention back to her and gives him a look that could incinerate. “Unless you’re thinking about fucking me up against those windows, I think your attention is better served elsewhere, Commander.” 

He quirks a brow at her. “I didn’t tell you I was a commander,” he chides, face breaking into a slow smile. 

Tav shrugs, eyes twinkling, “You were right. We’re terrible at this. C’mere.” 

The tiefling bends his head to kiss her, hands finding her hips to tug her close. Her perfume smells like coffee and orange blossoms and he slips a clawed hand into her hair to hold her close, deepening the kiss.  

“I for one would like to revisit the window suggestion,” Halsin chirps from the bed where he’s already bare chested and under the covers. 

Breaking the kiss Zevlor gives the man an exasperated look. “Aren’t you supposed to be the silent observer?” 

“She broke character already!” Halsin defends. 

“It’s not your birthday, is it? She’s allowed to break whatever the hells she wants!” He leans back into Tav’s orbit to press a lingering kiss at the pulse point of her neck. “Well, my lady. Where would you have me?”  

Putting her hands on her hips Tav surveys the room, gaze lingering on the windows. “You know, this feels a lot less sexier than I imagined it. What happened to letting everything happen, y’know, organically?”

“Says the woman who planned out an entire scenario to pick up her own husband at a bar,” says Zevlor, unbuttoning his shirt and smiling innocently when she rounds on him with a frown. 

“What was wrong with my scenario? It had a lot of potential!”

“Oh yes, right up until, ‘We dig your vibe’ over there couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.” 

“Yeah, well your wife was too head over heels seeing you scowling at the bar to do anything but stare at you. Someone had to do something or we’d all still be down there.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” says Tav, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to fondly amused. She takes off her shirt and tosses it aside, stalking towards the wall of windows. “Right, you,” she points at Halsin. “Sit at the edge of the bed, there, where I can see you.”  

Obediently he does as directed and Zevlor, kicking off his boots and unbuttoning his pants gives him an arch look. “How are you already naked?” 

His husband shrugs with a wide, self satisfied grin. “No buttons.” 

“And you,” says Tav, feeling a little like she’s trying to wrangle cats. “Come here.” 

“Finally,” breathes Zevlor, crossing the room with wide strides and wrapping her in his arms. 

He kisses her hard, sinking his hands into her hair to hold her steady while he plunders her mouth. She tastes like sweet water and cinnamon and he moans when she sucks his tongue into her mouth. Breaking apart for air he grips her thighs just under her ass and lifts her, pressing her against the window pane and leans in to suck a soft warm nipple into his mouth hungrily. 

With both hands and mouth occupied his tail glides up between their bodies and sinks between the lips of her damp folds until he brushes against the tight bundle of nerves.

“Shit, Zevlor,” she gasps, jerking, mouth falling open. Through half lidded eyes she spies Halsin, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand palming his own erection while he watches them. When his gaze finds hers on him the man smirks, widening his legs and leaning back to improve her view. “Gods.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Zevlor growls against her skin before switching to her other breast, sucking on her nipple to the point where pleasure meets pain and she keens, one hand fisting in his hair tightly while the other grips one of his horns. Releasing her tit he bares his teeth, his eyes burning bright with the ferocity of his lust. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wrecked for me, aren’t you?” Between her legs the tip of his tail slips warm and wet against her clit in a slow and lazy pace that has her blood burning in her veins. 

“Fuck! Zevlor, I can’t–,” her breathing comes in shorter, desperate bursts. “I can’t think.”

“Shhhh,” he smiles into her skin before he drags his teeth against the delicate skin in the crook of her sweaty neck, licking the salt from her body greedily. “Don’t think, my dear, let Zevlor take care of you.”  

She rests her head against the glass window at her back and her gasps give way to wanton groans and back again as he works at her clit with maddening precision. Her orgasm hovers just out of reach and she’s powerless to chase it, caught in his meticulous rhythm. 

Glancing at her other husband on the bed she whimpers at the sight of him, skin flushed with arousal, his leaking cock being stroked at the same careful tempo that has begun to beat like a heartbeat in her cunt. 

“Kiss me,” she demands, feeling the burning ember of her orgasm fanning into a sudden blistering wildfire. She tugs on his horn and he grunts but surges in to crash against her mouth, swallowing the moan that rips through her throat in tandem with her climax. 

He holds her through the inferno and when she can finally meet his gaze with eyes unclouded with mindless lust he lets her down gently. He removes his tail from her body but she’s always been faster than he gives her credit for and she snatches it. Holding his gaze she brings the tip, glistening with her arousal,  to her lips, sucking it into the warm wet heat of her mouth with an appreciative moan that punches the air from his lungs. 

He places his hands on the window on either side of her head, boxing her in, and breathes out harshly at the roguish smirk she gives him with his tail sticking out of her mouth. 

“You’re playing with fire, woman,” he mutters roughly. 

Tav swirls her tongue around the tip of his tail before pulling it from her mouth with a pop. “What do you want to do about it?” It’s a challenge and permission all in one. 

He turns her around kicking her feet apart and pressing her against the window and wishes he could be outside looking in at the sight she must make like this. Wet pussy dripping, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and hungry for a fuck right after an orgasm. 

He runs his hands down her body reverently, marveling that she’s given him the privilege. She’s so fucking soft and sweet and perfect. He runs his claws down her spine to the small of her back, smirking when she gasps and her hips jerk. Lining up his swollen member to the tight wet slit he kisses her shoulder before pressing his hips forward, clenching his jaw at the overwhelming sensation of her body taking him so beautifully. 

“Hells, woman.” He pauses, head bowed as he draws in a shuddering breath. 

Over her shoulder she grins at him, nothing but wicked mischief in her eyes. It’s all the warning he gets before her back arches and she presses into his crotch until he’s fully sheathed in her cunt, his balls brushing against her clit. 

Zevlor curses, grasping her hips tightly to hold her still, his tail flicking from side to side in agitation. But his wife isn’t one to be swayed and her back bows and arches, her hips rolling into his and he grunts. He can feel his composure slip through his fingers at the undulation of her tight wet heat squeezing his cock and in the reflection of the glass window he can see her smirking at him. 

“I warned you,” he grinds out through his teeth. The brimstone of his eyes flaring bright and hot sends a shiver down her spine. He tangles one hand in her hair, holding her face to the window and with his other he grips the soft plump flesh of her hip hard enough to leave bruises. He snaps his hips, pleased with the resulting lust drunk moan it elicits, fogging the glass. 

Her cunt is a hot wet heaven, swallowing his dick and his brain cells with each increasingly desperate slam of his hips. Their breathing becomes more labored, loud and harsh and peppered with desperate moans and grunts. Tav reaches a hand between her thighs and places her fingers in a ‘V’ where his body meets hers, adding a firm pressure to the base of his shaft that has his eyes nearly rolling in their sockets. 

With her face pressed against the glass Tav has a clear shot view of Halsin who looks nearly as wrecked as she feels. His hair, already loose from its customary tied back style, frames his face, strands stuck to his sweat slick throat and damp face. When their eyes meet the unfiltered intensity could have set her on fire. Her spine curves and she pushes herself back into Zevlor’s thrusts, desperate for release. 

The tiefling releases his grip on her hair and instead reaches between her legs, encircling her wrist and yanking it up to pin it against the glass. He doesn’t linger in the position long, her inner walls are bearing down on him so tightly he can practically taste her orgasm in the air. 

Taking both her hips in his hands he fucks into her harder, faster. Tav’s panting sighs turn into guttural moans that taper off into delicious whimpers. With each wet grasp of her cunt on his cock her breathing increases, each cry coming faster and sharper as she begins to unravel.

Wrapping a hand around her front he jerks her body away from the window and against his chest, slotting his mouth where her shoulder meets her neck. Pressing his teeth to the silky flesh there his tail lashes around and slipping deep into the lips of her pussy, grinding hard against her clit. The orgasm tears through her with a wail from her throat that goes directly to his balls and a tight clamping sensation on his dick that has him exhaling a breathless moan, his vision clouding with his own climax of euphoria. 

Spent and panting they stay locked together for a brief minute before with a tender kiss to her shoulder he pulls out, smiling softly at the noise of complaint it tugs from her lips. She turns to face him and pulls him in for a breathless kiss before they both break apart to look at Halsin.

The elf looks ruined, skin flushed dark, laid back on the bed with his arms spread out. His cum covered chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath. 

“I changed my mind,” he says when they join him on the bed. Zevlor, running a warm damp cloth down his husband's chest and cleaning the mess of ejaculate, arches his brow in question. “That was an excellent scenario.”  

Tav scoffs. “That was hardly what I had in mind.” She rolls over, nuzzling her pillow drowsily. “Maybe role play isn’t for us.” 

Halsin and Zevlor trade a look, their faces breaking into slow conspiratorial smiles.

“I don’t know,” says Zevlor casually, tossing the used rag to the floor.

“Practice makes perfect,” confirms Halsin sagely, grinning when he peels back the blanket to tug a squawking Tav into his embrace. 

The End

[ahopelessromantika]

"I do not know what came over Father's mind to marry you as his concubine when you are as young as me, but I will not stand for it."

She watches him lazily from where she is resting, her cheek prepped on her palm and her elbow digging into the soft mattress. The entire side of her petite body lies on the bed regally, the skirts of her silk dress daintily flowing around her, and she reaches for the bowl of grapes placed in the bedside table.

"No matter how hard you protest, nothing will change," she hums, her bright eyes glinting with amusement.

He ignores her statement.

"You are a wildcard."

She pops the grape into her mouth. "And?"

"Which is why I must find a way to eliminate you. Heaven only knows what you are planning to do, enchanting my Father, the damn general of this country, to take you as a concubine."

"I am a wildcard," she agrees amicably, rising from her bed with the grace of a feline. "A loose cannon. But everyone knows a wildcard is a blessing when you know how to deal with your own cards."

His eyes narrow at her. "What are you implying, woman?"

A wicked smirk curls the corners of her lips, and she tilts her head at him condescendingly. Locks of her hair cascade down from the jade pin holding them together in a messy bun, and the shape of her dress cling to her body enticingly, as if tempting him to unwrap them and play with her in bed for a bit.

No. Bad thoughts.

She studies him, entertained but scornful.

"Deal with your cards well, make your decisions wisely. My actions will be based on your actions. If you want to wield me as a weapon, prove yourself first. Alternatively, I can just slit my dear husband's throat, cause an uprising, and slink away in the chaos."

"So you are planning on assassinating him," he intones.

"And cause a massacre," she helpfully adds, shrugging.

He grasps the hilt of his sword that is hanging by his side, scrutinizing and ready to attack at the slightest hint of hostility. "Why?"

"Master wants it so he can take over. It'll stabilize the country, he believes. But what the old fool doesn't know is that I have other plans."

"Such as?"

"Apart from uprooting this country's corruption?" She smiles a grin, all bite and teeth. "We're not close enough for me to share the details with you, boy. Unless you want to work with me and save your Father's life?"

Three choices. First, to kill the woman. Second, to let her be with her plans and allow her to cause a massacre that will include the assassination of his Father. Third, work with her and reduce the bloodshed, only killing when necessary.

All decisions include carnage.

"Fine," he snaps. "But once this is all over, I don't want to see your face here anymore, understand?"

The delight that brightens up her pretty face is vicious and full of malice.

"Deal."

-by ahopelessromantika-

Note: I imagine this as an enemies to lovers plot. Like, for clarification, the concubine is about the same age as our ML here, as stated in the first dialogue, and my mind just can't help but ship them lol!

[chvoswxtch]

midnights- blurb (less than 500 words) based on a lyric, book, tv/movie quote (request a vault track to make it spicy)

“If I were truly courting you, I would not need flowers, only five minutes alone with you in a drawing room.” (from bridgerton) uuuuurrrggghhhhhh fake dating with billy!!!! brb i'm gonna go pass out because that is too hot. and becasue it's so hot, from the vault PLEASE AND THANK YOUU!

okay don't hate me but i've never seen bridgerton

but I seemed to do okay with the matty one you sent so I hope i'm doing it justice with billy boy too

as a reminder, from the vault means it's spicy! (minors dni)

blurb below the cut

admit it (billy's version) (from the vault)*

if I were truly courting you, I would not need flowers, only five minutes alone with you in a drawing room

Goddamn William Russo. Goddamn his enchanting obsidian eyes and his perfectly sculpted cheekbones that could make Adonis weep. Goddamn his silver tongue that constantly lashed at your ego with his sharp wit just to soothe the sting with candied whispers that bewitched your body, much to your own annoyance. Goddamn his skilled fingers that were currently underneath your dress, deftly strumming your chords to elicit the most sinful melodies from your lips.

“Admit it.”

Billy’s cocky tone dripping into your ear nearly chased away the high you were so close to approaching, but you refused to give in. Not yet. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to drown out the wicked smirk on his lips, focusing solely on the pleasure that was steadily building up in your lower stomach like an agonizingly slow crescendo. 

“No.”

The way you grit your teeth and struggled to spit out that one word made Billy chuckle. He leaned in to nuzzle his nose against your throat, the scruff of his beard scratching deliciously over the sensitive skin he had previously assaulted with his teeth and tongue, and he pressed his thumb firmly against your clit, causing you to let out a surprised gasp. Simultaneously, he slowed the pace of his index and middle finger that were conducting a symphony between your thighs, and the loss of stimulation had you letting out a pathetic whimper.

“Billy-”

“C’mon, darlin’. Don’t be so stubborn. All you gotta do is admit it.”

You weren’t sure how you ended up here. One minute you were begrudgingly agreeing to let Billy pretend to court you at a ball to ward off any potential marriage proposals you were not ready for, and the next Billy had you pushed up against a wall with your dress hiked up to your hips and his hand in your panties trying to prove a point; that you wanted him.

Clearly the mess he had created that was soaking his hand wasn’t proof enough. The ornery fucker wanted to hear you say it. He wanted verbal confirmation that would prove what he suspected all along; that you were not immune to William Russo’s charm. As much as you tried to fight it, and God did you try, somehow you always knew you would end up here. 

You enjoyed constantly bantering with Billy. You enjoyed seeing him get all worked up. He was the only man that could keep up with you, and found your combative nature amusing instead of disrespectful. He even encouraged you to fight back with him and riled you up just as much as you did him. Billy was your match, and he knew it. Now, he just wanted you to admit it.

As if he could hear your inner turmoil, Billy curled his fingers upwards in a “come hither” motion that made your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, and he let a saccharine promise drip into your waiting ears.

“I’ll give you whatever the hell you want. You want the world? It’s yours. Just lemme hear you say it.”

This little game had gone on for too long, and he had you exactly where he wanted you. The reward he was offering was too good to pass up. Swallowing your pride along with a prepared insult, you let out a sigh of defeat and pressed your forehead against Billy’s chest, gripping onto his strong biceps tightly.

“I want you.”

Billy’s lips immediately stretched into a wolfish grin, as if he had just won the biggest prize there was.

And he had.

He won you.

[fivenightslaughter]

Wicked Serpentine (Part 8)

pairing: draco malfoy x femravenclaw!oc (some like george weasley x femravenclaw!oc too)

summary: slowburn enemies to lovers fic, a TON of parts. (continued after ... 3 years..) i'm back lol)

warnings: blood purism, bullying, swearing, descriptive physical danger, violence. Awful Draco

taglist: @gloryekaterina

taglist: let me know if you’re interested in being added!

Roughly a month had gone by, my last real interaction with Malfoy being my first school day in the Great Hall.

Snape had reassigned partners and tables after only the first day, likely due to Harry and Ron’s noise from the first class. I was paired with Hermione, thankfully. She was pleasantly quiet but helpful when she needed to be. My friendship with her had furthered quite a bit, but less so with the boys. I wasn’t actively attempting to befriend Harry after Snape’s hostility.

Flitwick and I hit it off and he quickly became my runner-up favorite teacher, just behind Snape. I frequently stayed behind in his classroom to discuss muggle music and the world as a whole. It was the only part of my day I could get truly lost in.

I’d eventually learned the schedules of Luna and Cho, sitting with them on days they’d be in the dining hall. Rarely was my attention drawn to the blond across the hall on the days he was there, either. He’d been looking rather sick, lately.

Not that I actively tried to look at him.

It just struck me whenever I’d happen to catch his silvery strands in my peripheral. His face looked sunken, his cheeks hollow. Instead of marble, he looked almost grey. It made my heart hurt a little. How could someone look so ghostly, as if he was always floating? It reminded me of a dried volcano, stiff and cold.

His head bobbed up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since I’d walked off from him a month ago.

“Eris?” A voice snapped me back to the present. It was Hermione. She had said something that I didn’t catch at all.

I looked at her, my mouth slightly parted. Dumbly, I replied, “Huh?”

She gave me a small laugh and stabbed at her food, cocking her head to the side exasperatedly.

“I said, Snape is assigning new partners, something about people falling behind already. I’ll miss the quiet of sitting next to you. Seriously, I will.” She let her shoulders droop sadly, a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

I heard her teeth slide on the fork as she ate, mildly sullen. I felt bad. I hadn’t even known we were switching partners, I must have been too caught up during potions to hear Snape mention the change.

“Hey, we’ll still eat together. Maybe I’ll kick Ron out of his seat every once in a while.” I joked. Her mood seemed to perk back up a bit at that, nodding.

“That’d be perfect, wouldn’t it, Ron?” She nudged him jokingly.

He whipped his neck to face her, food falling out of his mouth. He was too busy talking to Harry to notice our conversation, so he looked absolutely lost.

“Wha…?” Food tumbled from his mouth. I groaned and Hermione bit her lip in a laugh. The way she looked at him was cute, a twinkle in her eyes lighting as if everything he did was enchanting.

“Nothing, Ronald. Just… Chew your bloody food!” She choked out, noticing the knowing smile I was giving her halfway through her sentence.

He scrunched his nose up, confused and annoyed. He finished, crumbs still dusting his lips.

“Whatever, ‘Mione.” He dismissed, turning back to Harry. They were discussing something Quidditch related.

She exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes. I watched as she packed her sprawled books and papers into her bag, deep in her thoughts.

Her eyes lit up for a moment and she immediately looked back at me.

“Oh! I almost forgot. We all have lessons but you’re free after this, right? Snape said he’d post a parchment outside his room with the partners. You should check it out.” She beamed.

I paused in thought for a second. Should I go check? I shrugged.

“Yeah, sure. I will.” I saw no harm in making my way to the classroom. I’d gotten a much better hang of the hallways to my classes and the library. The dungeons and the Room of Requirement remained untraveled for now, the map buried in the bottom of my bag. I’d taken it out to mark it up whenever I discovered a new direction or an alternate way to a class.

It was incredibly helpful and I was glad I befriended Hermione. Maybe I could go check out partners and find her later to let her know who she got. I’m sure she’d appreciate knowing beforehand what she was in for.

Satisfied, she dropped her last book in her bag and stood.

“Right, well I’ll see you!” She waved farewell, already taking off from the table. Ron and Harry were still engrossed in their conversation about Quidditch. I tuned in, a name immediately catching my ear.

“Of course we’ll win, Harry. Malfoy’s played like shit lately. Serves him right, bloody bastard.” Ron bragged. Harry nodded in response, noticing my sudden interest in the conversation.

“Eris, you haven’t been to a Quidditch game yet, have you?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Ah, no I haven’t.” I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck. I didn’t have an intense interest in sports in the muggle world and wasn’t sure how much more exciting they could be in the wizarding world, so it hadn’t piqued my interest.

Harry’s head leaned against his hand and he seemed to nod slowly for a second before smacking his hands on the table.

“Come to the game today. I’ll ask Hermione to save you a seat.” He mused decidedly. Ron shrugged, agreeing.

“Okay, sure. I’ll come then.” I confirmed.

Glad at my response, he turned his attention back to Ron.

“Ready to go?” He asked him.

They got up and left for their next lesson, which I’m pretty sure was a history class I’d often heard them complain about. I still sat, popping a final piece of food into my mouth. I planned out my route in my head. First to Snape’s, then to the library to study intensively.

It felt like a solid enough plan.

I stood and left the hall, making sure I didn’t leave anything at the table. I made my way to Snape’s classroom. It was a different way than when I’d originally followed Malfoy and I was grateful I didn’t have to relive my cowardice every time I went to Potions in the mornings.

The clock tower chimed while I was walking and people pushed by me as I made my way down the hallways. Some people stood idly and hung out with one another, sitting in window sills or quickly scurrying somewhere.

I watched a class fill into Snape’s classroom and I walked up to the doorway. A small plaque with a scroll of parchment hung on the wall.

“FIRST PERIOD PARTNERS

HERMIONE GRANGER - NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM

HARRY POTTER - SEAMUS FINNIGAN

RONALD WEASLEY - PADMA PATIL

ERIS WOODWORK - DRACO MALFOY “

There was more, but my heart stuck in my throat. This couldn’t be real. I reread it several times, finally making my way to the bottom.

There was a tiny footnote stating partner changes were not permitted and must remain as written on the parchment. I felt myself shrink. Maybe Snape didn’t know how bad Malfoy would treat me?

I shook my head at the thought. It was quite obvious how poorly he treated everyone. Just because my interactions with him have been few and far between doesn’t mean he didn’t endlessly snip at other people.

In fact, the only times I ever heard his voice was when he was chastising Harry or Hermione, or making a comment about how Ron lives in squalor. It was unpleasant but at the very least I could be glad it wasn’t directed towards me.

I dreaded this partnership, but at least now I’d read the list like I said I would. Later, I’d be able to tell Hermione and the boys who they’d been partnered with.

I took off to the library, my mind spinning. I accidentally bumped into someone in the hallway and his hands shot out to steady my shoulders before I could fall to the ground. I recognized him as Malfoy’s original partner in Potions.

He eyed me up and down, removing his hands once I was steady. I vaguely recalled Ron calling him Zabini.

“Be careful. Never know who you’ll run into in these halls. You’re lucky it was me.” He spoke smugly, clearly a bit vain.

I raised an eyebrow at him, nodding.

“Yeah, I’ll be more careful.” I replied. I started to walk off when he spoke, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Was all he said as he continued to walk as well.

It unsettled me in the weird way that Slytherins were good at. A switch seemed glued to their emotions, fully able to flip at any time. It was startling. A chill eased down my spine and I hurried toward the library, no longer taking my time as I had before.

Finally arriving a bit breathless, I entered the space that had become most familiar to me over the last month. Giving a nod in Madam Pince’s direction, she gave me a puckered and stiff smile.

She was an intolerable vulture that only cared for her books, but I’d come to be in her relatively good graces. With my quiet presence and care for the texts, I was often the only one in the library with her. In her own way, I think she kind of liked me there.

Tucking into my usual space behind a few large bookshelves, I pulled a lesson book out of my school bag, along with a parchment and quill. We had just gone over a new spell in Flitwick’s class and I was determined to study it down to every flick of the wand.

A seat pulled out beside me and a book dropped down onto the table just loud enough for me to wince. I glanced over. It was “Libatius Borage’s ADVANCED POTION MAKING” book. I recognized it from my class with Snape.

I watched black robes swish down into the seat beside me, defeated looking. My surprise was immeasurable when I met empty, silvery eyes and messy moonbeam-colored hair. I couldn’t stifle a tiny gasp that slipped from my lips.

“Malfoy…?”

He leaned his head back against the top of the chair, remaining in quiet for what felt like a couple minutes as I dumbfoundedly stared at him. Seeming to find his resolve, he sat up. He leaned forward towards the table and didn’t meet my eyes again.

“Snape reassigned everyone because of me.” He stated. He was looking straight ahead, his eyes travelling up the spines of books in front of the table we were at. It felt wrong hearing a real sentence from him, especially one that wasn’t littered with insults.

“He thinks I’m fucking falling behind.” He was the second Slytherin I’d heard swear today, but his anger didn't quite reach his eyes. I watched a stray strand of hair fall from his slicked back ones, lightly resting on his forehead. He looked hopelessly disheveled the longer I looked at him.

My eyebrows knit together with concern.

“Are you okay, Draco?” I tried to be genuine, my voice soft and low. I barely breathed it and regretted it the second I said it as he flipped to face me. His lips were pressed in a tight line, chapped and pale.

“Don’t you dare call me by my first name, mudblood.” He snapped.

I felt my body tense up and my blood run cold at the tone he used. I desperately fought the water that immediately welled up in my eyes, coaching myself to just breathe carefully. I hoped he couldn’t tell how pathetic he made me feel. I just wanted to move on, now.

I decided that if he didn’t want my help, that he didn’t need it. There was nothing I could do to help him, and talking clearly wouldn’t solve anything. I wasn’t going to give him power over me, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I went on as normal. I focused back on the book for Flitwick’s, pulling my wand from my bag and placing it on the desk. Flitwick had even written a couple notes for me himself, explaining things in a better way the book could.

I had spoken to him about Scourgify, mentioning how Cho had done it and it was something I wanted to learn. He included notes about how to perform it, but I kept failing without a physical example of how to cast it.

All I had in my head was the memory of Cho, which I’d been too in shock from Malfoy’s prank to fully grasp the technique of. I had been trying to practice on dirty spoons I’d snagged from the Great Hall. I kept one wrapped in a fabric napkin and tucked into my bag, switching the spoon out for a different one each time I went to eat.

Ignoring the blond sitting next to me, I pulled the spoon out and placed it on the table in front of me. I unraveled it and there it was, just a gross spoon.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up my wand and reread Flitwick’s notes, as well as the pages in the textbook. Holding a book in one hand and my wand in the other steadily, I focused on the spoon.

“Scourgify.” I half whispered, trying to work with the tiny bit of light that sparked on my wand. I could never get farther than just a tiny emittance from my wand. It had been weeks and I still struggled to get it. It was clear from my frustration that this wasn’t the first time.

I heard a scoff from my side. I realized a set of steely eyes had focused on what I was doing as if I were some kind of entertainment. I ignored him, trying it again. And again.

I had attempted Scourgify on the spoon a good four times before he shot up out of his chair, blatantly annoyed.

“You’re literally doing everything wrong.” He muttered crossly.

I heaved a sigh, dropping my book to the table. I turned to put my wand away in my bag but he stopped me. He stood behind my chair, leaning over my shoulder. Mint and cologne overpowered my senses as he corrected me sourly.

“No, just… Merlin, you have to-” he grabbed my wrist and pointed towards the spoon, swishing my hand in a sort of ‘S’ shape. “Swish it, like this. Say it. Now.” He instructed rudely, guiding my hand to motion correctly. His cold, silver ring made me clench my wand as tightly as the night I’d got it.

“Scourgify.” I spoke boldly, jumping a slight bit as the grime left the spoon in an immediate little spark. I swallowed loudly, a disbelieving laugh bubbling softly through my lips. I turned my face to thank him before my mind could reject the idea.

However, when I turned, he had simply gone. I guess I was a bit glad he had disappeared, otherwise I would have proved his point by thanking him. Stroked his ego, probably.

I turned back to my book, writing down what I had just learned. I felt so excited and accomplished that I’d pushed away how weird that situation really was.

Did he really just grab my wrist like that? Why did he never seem to have a grasp on personal space? I tried to move on, finding the dustiest book I could find to try the spell again.

Much to my disappointment when, just as before, trying the spell only made my wand fizzle slightly.

Disappointed, I slumped down into my seat. I spent the next half hour trying to focus on Potions instead, opting to note things I noticed during class. Such as the physical traits of ingredients I was confused by.

Out of my peripheral, I noticed a light-blond head duck quietly from between some shelves, past me, and out of the library doors.

There was a book on the opposite end of the table that wasn’t there before.

I stood and walked over, picking it up. I flicked through it and much to my surprise, it was a Charms book. It was filled with neatly scribbled notes in the margins, shapes and arrows showing how to cast some simple charms I knew would get covered this year.

Some of the ink was slightly smeared a tiny bit, clearly brand new. Whereas other notes in it were old and the ink slightly faded.

Flipping to the very back cover, I read

‘If lost, return to Draco L. Malfoy’

in the same handwriting as the notes throughout, slightly faded.

What the hell?

A piece of parchment slipped from between some of the pages into my lap.

“You’re dense. Read my notes and maybe you won’t look so ridiculous.” It read.

That made much more sense. I guess I'll just... Study this all, then.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Cullen has another invitation for Trevelyan.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,668. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 49: Bumpy Ride

“How much silverite do you need?” asked the blacksmith.

The order Trevelyan had put in with the Quartermaster wasn’t due for another three weeks, and she was rather eager to start her work. Thus, she had ventured to the armoury, to entreat the aid of the forge within.

“Two pounds, please,” Trevelyan said.

The smith nodded, and retreated to his stores. Trevelyan, ever-nosy, glanced over the rack of weapons and armour he’d left behind. Though there was nothing quite so unique as the output of the Undercroft’s own forge—such as the resplendent staff holstered upon her back—the Inquisition smiths were competent enough.

There was one piece, however, that did stand out.

A helm, in the shape of a lion’s roar, snarled in her direction. Curious, Trevelyan crept closer, and—with a check to see that the blacksmith was yet occupied—plucked it from the table.

The surface was cold, scuffed, and beaten. She ran her fingers across the engravings, the rounded nose and pitted cheeks. The fanged mouth was like a pin prick, to the touch. Trevelyan brought it level with her face, and bore her teeth in turn. She laughed.

“Arcanist.”

Trevelyan almost dropped the thing. Scrambling, she set it down and whipped around. Cullen stood before her, smiling.

“Cullen!” she gasped. “I—um, I was just admiring it. What is it doing here?”

“My bout with Lady Orroat left a few dents,” he explained. “I sent it for repair.”

“I see.”

“May I ask what you’re doing here?”

Trevelyan brushed a hair out of her face. “Oh, I was, um—running an errand.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t Herzt be doing that?”

She shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

The smith returned with a satchel of silverite; Trevelyan thanked him. Task complete, he turned his attention to Cullen:

“Commander, see you found your helmet. You need anything else, Ser? Sword sharpening?”

Cullen drew his blade with a flash. The amber glow of the nearby forge flickered across its surface, as he twisted it in the air.

“Looks fine,” he told the smith. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The smith slipped away, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal soon resuming its toll.

“Dagna has an enchantment for a self-sharpening blade, you know,” Trevelyan said. “Could be useful.”

Cullen twirled the weapon, bringing it to rest between them. “I prefer it sharpened by hand.”

Trevelyan’s eyes flicked to the blade. “Really?” she said, tracing a finger down its shaft, running to the very tip. “Why’s that?”

Cullen swallowed. “I, ah—it feels I have more control, that way.”

“I see.” She reversed her path, trailing toward the hilt, where his hand quivered. “I do wonder… had the conclusion of your duel with Lady Orroat not been predetermined… do you think you might have won?”

He failed to conceal a smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Then perhaps… should this son of an Arl my parents spoke of show his face and demand satisfaction—do you believe you would be victorious against him?”

“You assume he would get past the gates.”

He withdrew the blade, and sheathed it at his side. Trevelyan’s teeth dragged over her lip.

“May I have my helm?” he asked.

Obliging, Trevelyan hooked a finger within its maw, and dangled it before him. Cullen lifted it from her grasp, and lowered it over his head.

“I was on my way to survey the troops in the valley,” he told her, pulling the straps taut. “If you’re not busy, you could..?”

Trevelyan smiled. “I would love to.”

That was all the encouragment he required. Though his helm concealed the eagerness on his face, it could do nothing to hide the eagerness in his gait. Cullen strode for the door, and held it open.

Trevelyan thanked him as she drifted past, to the courtyard beyond. The day was as lovely as any other; the cloudy skies were bright and cheerful. People hurried by, as always—though the sight of an armoured Commander was enough for them to keep a wide berth.

“Shall you need something to wear?” he asked, as they walked. “Will you be warm enough?”

Fair question, given her attire of shirt and breeches. Hardly so comforting as the thick-furred cape he wore. But that was quite all right—she had alternative means.

Trevelyan brought her staff forward, and summoned the focus to life. Through its channel she drew the Fade, and crafted for herself an aura of warmth. The chill of the breeze became unnoticeable, and her goose-bumps were reduced to naught.

“That ought to do it,” she told Cullen.

“Ah, of course”—he rubbed the back of his neck—“but… do let me know, if it wears off.”

It was at that moment Trevelyan realised he was possibly angling to offer his cloak to her, in that most heroic and gentlemanly of gestures. She cursed herself for being so desperate to impress that she hadn’t let him do it.

Nevertheless, they arrived at the gates, where a stablehand awaited with Cullen’s dapple-grey mare. It whinnied to him, as if in greeting.

“Thank you,” he told the stablehand, taking the reins. With the aid of a mounting block and a practised swing of his leg, he saddled himself upon the horse’s back. “Would you prepare another mount, for the Arcanist, please?”

The stablehand nodded, about to scurry away—but Trevelyan spoke up:

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” she interrupted, “I can ride with you.”

Cullen stared at her. “Oh, if you want t—”

Trevelyan already had one foot on the mounting block.

Seeing her determination, Cullen reached a hand down. Trevelyan secured hers around it, their forearms interlocking, and let herself be pulled onto the horse, and against his back.

It took a moment, to find comfort, but Trevelyan managed it—her thighs slotted in behind his, her hands finding purchase upon his waist. Cullen shifted, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

Trevelyan made a satisfied little noise, for words were quite beyond her now. Cullen cleared his throat, and took up the reins once more.

“Hold on.”

With a tap of his foot and click of his tongue, the horse marched on. Hoofsteps changed from dull to echoing, as it found its way from the courtyard to the gatehouse, and the bridge beyond. Trevelyan hardly liked the sensation of leaving Skyhold’s walls again so soon—but she could at least tuck herself into the fur of Cullen’s mantle, and not feel so small in the presence of the mountains.

They trotted along the bridge like this, nothing but quiet. Last time, it had been so awkward to ride in such silence. This time, not so. This time, it was simply peaceful.

“I’d been meaning to ask,” Cullen said, over his shoulder, “did you receive the package, from Sudton?”

Trevelyan took a steadying breath. “I did,” she said. “I began sorting it the moment it arrived. I recognise some things, but—the memories have been difficult.”

“Take your time,” he told her. “If you need someone… with you, I could be there.”

“Thank you”—she meant it, truly—“but I’d like to do it by myself.”

“I understand.” He pulled a little on the reins, to guide his horse clear of the path of a passing cart. “Did you know we’d heard from the Free Marches? Loranil sent a bird.”

Trevelyan perked. “Oh? No. What did he say?”

“The, ah, ‘new recruits’ were happily reunited, and the Clan welcomed them with open arms. I am certain he’ll be able to say more when he returns.”

And Trevelyan would pester him for it when he did! But, for now, she was simply glad. Glad to know that Giles was with her Vichy once more, and glad to know she was home. Oh, Maker—or perhaps, Creators—let her be happy.

“I had a letter myself, from Lady Erridge,” she told him, in exchange. “Though she misses us all, she was overjoyed to be home. They are already planning the wedding—and it sounds as if, for your involvement, the Bann himself would have you be a guest of honour.”

Cullen chuckled. “I’m glad they are doing well. Have you had anything from the Baroness?”

Funny he should ask. “This morning. She must have the sent the letter hours after she arrived. Thallia is well, as are the other mages. They have not lost as many as she feared, though the losses they did have still pain her, of course. There will be a period of mourning, she said, before the rebuilding efforts begin.”

“She knows she may call on us, if she needs help.”

Trevelyan smiled. “Whether she’ll do it is another problem entirely.”

They arrived at the sloping descent to the valley below. Though Cullen’s horse took the familiar decline with ease, Trevelyan anchored herself against him, as gravity strengthened its pull.

“I understand the Baroness’ difficulty with relying on others,” he said. “It’s… something I have struggled with myself.”

Trevelyan was rather glad of the fact he could not see the grin this confession caused. “It’s nice to hear you admit it.”

Though he chuckled, Cullen went on: “I mean, in regards to the Ladies. You were right about them, in every sense. They would have helped me—from the beginning—had I asked.”

“You didn’t know them, you couldn’t trust them.”

“I should have at least given them a chance.”

Trevelyan shrugged. “In an ideal world, perhaps. But given your past experience with nobility, your reluctance was understandable.”

“Though not the rudeness,” he added.

“No,” she said, with a smile, “not the rudeness.”

The horse’s hooves clattered onto the frozen banks of the river, as they came to the valley base. The icy landscape was peppered with fires and tents and marching soldiers—possibly more than there had been on Trevelyan’s previous visits. New recruits, perhaps? Or a consolidation of the Inquisition’s power?

She felt Cullen straighten, as they rode past the first of these troops. Soldiers ceased all activity at the sight, backs rigid as boards, salutes across their chests. Trevelyan felt herself gain a little of the importance that the Commander carried with him at all times.

Upon a particularly thick patch of ice, Cullen brought his horse to a halt. No more than thirty feet away, a group of soldiers sparred and trained, swords flying and clashing. It was certainly one way to keep warm.

Cullen dismounted first, dropping to the ground with such self-assertion it almost quaked. He offered his arms to Trevelyan, and she braced her hands upon his shoulders. As if it were no effort at all, he lifted her from the horse’s back. Though her feet felt uncertain on the ice below, she found the blade of her staff could pierce it like a pick, and keep her balance steady.

Cullen gestured, to the nearby training session. “This way,” he said.

The closeness of their ride remained in their walk, for it felt strange when she strayed too far from his side. Comfort came only from being shoulder-to-shoulder, arms brushing with every step.

“I should mention,” Cullen murmured, “though it may be too soon to tell, I have had less unwelcome correspondence from Orlais of late.”

“Oh?”

“I believe I know why. One letter—sent rather urgently, given the scrawling hand—did query the fact that I am apparently engaged to a Trevelyan of Ostwick,” he explained, “though they did not seem to know which of the Trevelyans it was.”

Trevelyan was as confused as she was pleased. “I am not sure where they got the idea.”

“Apparently their source was quite accurate”—he stopped, some feet from the soldiers, and turned to her so that they might finish their conversation privately—“the information was overheard at the Val Royeaux villa of Bann and Lady Trevelyan themselves.”

A smug laugh escaped Trevelyan’s lips. So, not only had her parents hired rats to report on her, but they had inadvertently hired rats to report on themselves as well. Ha! Maker, was she glad she had spoken with such volume at their meeting.

“It was something of a little ruse, I’m afraid,” she confessed to Cullen, “to toy with their emotions and their machinations. I would be sorry it got out—but it sounds as if it has benefitted you as much as it has me.”

“Oh, yes,” Cullen replied. “Though I do recall you saying previously that you didn’t wish to tell them such a thing.”

“Well, at that time, they wished me to be engaged to you. When it became clear that their plans tended towards the opposite… the prospect became rather alluring.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “...Alluring?”

“Shouldn’t you be surveying your soldiers, Commander?”

His eyes lingered upon her, for a moment, before he finally relented.

The soldiers had done an excellent job of pretending they did not see the hushed conversation happening so nearby. They had kept up their fighting, the sound of swords drowning out any words, for all except those who spoke them.

Cullen regained the composure of his command, and strode towards his troops. A lieutenant came to meet him, salute already prepared.

“Commander,” she said.

“Report,” he told her.

Trevelyan hung back, listening as the lieutenant spoke of those aspects of military organisation that Trevelyan found particularly uninteresting. Well, at least when it wasn’t Cullen speaking. But then, she just liked hearing him speak.

Their discussion soon ceased. In his commanderly way, Cullen took to prowling round the recruits, in close observation. Trevelyan followed loosely behind, making observations of her own—though not of the recruits.

“You there,” Cullen called, between the clashes, “be careful how you raise your arm on the downward swing”—he lifted his own, to indicate the padding that lined the gaps of his armour—“you expose yourself to attack on your sword arm.”

The soldier acknowledged the instruction with a nod and shout: “Yes, Commander!”

Trevelyan was hardly surprised they heeded him so easily. Cullen’s voice was rather strong, and echoed off the mountains. She could not imagine refusing any orders from him, either.

Seeming satisfied by his troops’ compliance, Cullen circled back around, to her side.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Trevelyan’s brow furrowed. “Of what?”

“The troops.” He turned his back on them, and whispered to her ear: “I value your opinion.”

“Oh. Indeed, they fight well. Though there is something I am curious about…”

“What?”

“That one,” she said, pointing to a soldier practicing his defence, against a flurry of friendly blows. “Why is the shield angled that way?”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder, and saw the man in question. “To deflect away from the face—if they are hit by projectiles or magic, such as a fireball...”

Trevelyan chuckled. “He has it so low, he needn’t worry about the fireballs aimed at his chest. Should he like to retain his eyebrows, I suggest he raise it higher.”

Cullen smiled, and withdrew from her. He returned to the soldiers at a march.

“Recruit!” he called to the one she’d singled out. “Where do you hold your shield?”

The man stood to attention. “Down, Commander!”

“But not so far down that the enemy can see your face.”

Cullen held out a hand, and beckoned the shield be passed over. The soldier complied. Cullen gripped it tight against his arm, and demonstrated the proper form.

“Here,” he said, keeping the rim of the shield just below his eyeline, “then gently downward. The tilt should barely be visible. Let your enemy think you are unprepared.”

The soldier took the lesson, as did his sparring partner, and all others who had halted their fighting to observe. Cullen noted this audience, and announced to them all:

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

He paced a few feet away from where they watched, and raised the shield once more. His greaves shifted, ground into the ice, as he turned to face Trevelyan.

“Arcanist, if you would.”

She stared back, blank. “What?”

Cullen nodded toward the shield. Trevelyan raised her eyebrows. He nodded again.

She drew her staff up from the ground, and took a ready stance. With a simple swing of her focus through the air, she sent forth a blazing fireball. Amber flared before the wide-eyed soldiers, reflecting a thousand times upon the ice and snow around them. The searing sphere impacted against Cullen’s shield—and burst across the surface, ripples of flame shattering out from it.

And yet, when it at last dissipated, and Cullen lowered the shield… he was unharmed.

“Thank you, Arcanist.”

Trevelyan performed a little curtsy. She could’ve sworn she heard a couple of claps, amongst the crowd. Green recruits who’d never seen magic with their own eyes, likely—bar the great glowing whack of it in the sky, of course.

Cullen returned to them, and presented the shield to the soldier from whom he’d taken it. The man accepted it with almost holy reverence, tentative of the heat that remained within.

“Do you understand?” Cullen asked.

“Yes, Ser,” the soldier sputtered.

“Would you like to try?”

“Oh! If—if the Arcanist doesn’t mind.”

Trevelyan did not. It was worth being a trick pony, if she got to give these poor souls a valuable, potentially life-saving lesson. And if she got to impress Cullen whilst doing it.

“Prepare yourself,” she warned.

Cullen directed the man away from the rest of the recruits—more of a comment on the soldier’s abilities than hers—and instructed him on the proper angle for his shield. The soldier followed his guidance to the letter.

Signal given, Trevelyan raised up her staff. Having expended her focus’ stored energy on the previous spell, she swung it wider, twirling through the air, to sap as much of the Fade as she could. Heat gathered within.

But it was as she made her final swing, that Trevelyan noticed the soldier’s eyes. They watched not her, but the motion of the staff. Hm. Not the most brilliant strategy. Perhaps she ought to demonstrate why.

In an instant, invisible to the eye, she summoned the heat to her hand instead, and sent the fireball rocketing from her fist. The soldier jolted when he realised—but held form, and deflected it nonetheless.

Realising his survival, he popped up from behind the shield. “I didn’t think it was gonna come from your hand!” he said.

“I know,” Trevelyan replied. She brought her staff to rest. “When up against a swordfighter, you watch their sword. But a mage’s attacks can come from both the body and the staff. It is an unpredictability that we often use to our advantage. Bear it in mind.”

Another soldier asked: “But how do you fight an unpredictable enemy like that?”

Trevelyan smiled. “You don’t. It’s the same reason Templars tend to carry such big shields. You defend. Though mages are powerful, our connection to the Fade can only draw so much energy at a time. Wait for the lapse.”

Her eyes flicked to Cullen, for his approval. He gazed back, seemingly as enraptured as the rest of his troops. As more eyes found him, their collective pressure jolted him back to focus, and he stood tall once more.

“The Arcanist is right,” he bellowed. “Patience can be an advantage in combat. Don’t act for the sake of acting. Watch and wait. Understood?”

The order was taken with a chorus of, “Yes, Ser!”

“Good work,” he told them. “Carry on.”

Authority was returned to his lieutenant, who did not let the lesson lie, and instructed her soldiers with a new intensity. The fighting reignited, reinvigorated. Well-pleased, Cullen left it behind, to wander back to Trevelyan.

“Thank you for your help,” he told her, softening to say, “your spellcasting was impressive.”

Sweet man, pretending as if he hadn’t seen a fireball before. “Thank you—though I rather hope I didn’t singe you.”

He unfastened his helm, and lifted it from his head. Its animalistic ferocity gave way, to be contrasted entirely by the gentle, smiling face beneath. “How do I look?” he asked.

Trevelyan admired the view. “Perfect,” she said, stroking his fallen hairs back into place.

Though her fingers withdrew, their gazes lingered. The faux war raging in the background became near-silent; the chasm it left lay there, expectant. There was something, perhaps, on the tip of each’s tongue, that could not quite escape their mouths.

“Come,” Cullen muttered, “your, ah, aura must be wearing off. We should return to Skyhold before you get cold.”

Trevelyan hadn’t particularly noticed any cold or chill—rather the opposite—but had no wish to discourage such doting words.

“Thank you,” she said, with a shiver for the pretense, “that would be lovely.”

No mounting-block to aid them, Cullen pulled himself onto his horse by the reins, and Trevelyan onto the horse by himself. She straddled against his back once more, arms seating themselves gladly around his waist. Certain she was secure, he bid the horse trot on.

The ride back to Skyhold was even greater than the departure. Trevelyan felt so at peace, her head nestled into his mantle, the ambience of the encampment in her periphery. Though the bite of the breeze did begin to pierce the fabric of her clothes, there was no end of warmth to be found in Cullen’s proximity.

Through the gates they entered their home, and Trevelyan lamented their journey’s inevitable end with a sigh. If only she could hold on just a little longer.

But Cullen dismounted the steed, and, for a final time, saw her down from it as well. Yet, even as it was lead away, he remained beside her.

“Would you like to, ah, eat?” he asked.

Intriguing question. Trevelyan glanced him up and down. “Eat what?”

“Food—with me?”

“Always,” she said. “Now?”

“Tomorrow evening?” he suggested.

Trevelyan smiled. “Yes.”

For it was the perfect opportunity. A good meal, a good conversation, and then… she would tell him.

She would tell him that she cared for him.

[butmakeitgayblog]

🪽I just remembered birds will often preen and flash their wings to show off for their mates and can't get the idea out of my head of Demon!Lexa absolutely using her wings against Clarke's obvious weakness for them. Just stretching them full out to their magnificence every now and then to see Clarke go all big eyed, fluffing them up whenever Clarke compliments her, letting them swish around a little more freely when Clarke is watching, flexing and snapping them in arguments or when she's protective of Clarke 🪽

The ride out is deafeningly quiet.

Heavy in the settled weight of it between them, the fog of unspoken words only broken by the swish and thunk of too-new wipers that squeak across the windshield in maddeningly timed intervals.

Clarke grips the wheel in a loose fist. Easy, careless. Relaxed and unbothered. Everything her insides are not.

She glances over to her passenger, sat hunched and just as silent as she'd been when they'd pulled off, merely watching endless field go by.

Clarke turns down another deserted road and feels the wheels crunch along wet dirt and gravel.

"Baby." She reaches for the hand clutching an endlessly bouncing thigh. Pries it free from its death grip. Fingers turn and twist in a dance that requires no thought at all that point, just enough to slip easily in between the spaces of Clarke's own.

Eyes turn to her, looking so much more grey than their usual enchanting green under the dreary backdrop of skies that spit rain and rolls of thunder.

Lips pull tug up at the edges in a woeful attempt at a smile, looking foreign aand uncomfortable on such a normally deviously pleased face.

"Are you okay?" Clarke asks, squeezing the hand laced with her own.

A single slim shoulder lifts in a shrug. "Of course."

"Are you though?"

"Yes."

"Because it's okay to not be okay."

"I know."

"But I'm just saying. If you're not—"

Lexa's next smile is more genuine, somewhere between fond and fondly exasperated as she takes Clarke's hand and lifts it to her lips to dust it with a kiss. "I know, gorgeous," she whispers against Clarke's skin, nipping a bite of her teeth to Clarke's knuckle for good measure. "But I'm fine."

The tickle of her lips makes Clarke's skin tingle with ever sweet, plump brush.

Clarke smiles back at her girlfriend, pulling her closer and chancing the safety of their ill-gotten means of transportation for moment when she leans over to steal a kiss directly from the source.

As a treat. And a promise to let the subject rest. Because as much Clarke wants to be the dutiful girlfriend— supportive and soothing and all that other therapy-talk crap she could think of, the truth is that hearing Lexa's confirmation that the plan was still on sent a wicked thrill racing up Clarke's spine.

Because she'd been waiting for this shit for months.

Months of gently prodding and encouraging, of blatantly pandering to Lexa's insatiable fucking ego, of sweet words and shamelessly trading promises for sexual favors. She'd been relentless, in an entirely loving and supportive kind of way she'd insist, but single minded in her pursuit nonetheless.

And now it was here and, fuck, it was all Clarke could do not wiggle in her seat as she pulls back to send her girlfriend a fang-capped smile.

Lexa's eyes brightened at her obvious excitement, even if the palm in her grip stays clammy. But the air feels lighter between them as Clarke eases the car off the desolate road and takes them out further into the clearing surrounded by a thick boundary of woods.

The rain had all but stopped by the time she parks, only a few sprinkles refusing to give up their southern march. They get out in a flourish, Clarke's speed born of pure excitement, Lexa's of a deeply misguided desire to gallantly always open Clarke's door.

Arms wrapped around her waist the second they met in the middle at the front of the car.

Clarke decides her pout is more than worth the disappointment.

She doesn't give Lexa time to dwell on it anyway.

"You ready?" she breathes instead, running her hands over the tightly coiled muscles where her girlfriend's unyielding shoulders meet an elegant neck.

Lexa simply nods with a sigh, pulling Clarke closer until they're flush, skin warming against the chill autumn air that rustles through the open patch of field.

A purr explodes low in Lexa's chest, vibrating in deep sensual rolls that shoot straight down to Clarke's core. Lips find hers and sweet her up in a punishing, demanding kiss.

Clarke loved when Lexa gets like this. When she teeters on the knife's edge between damnation and saint. When the demon inside of her that sits quiet and patient on most days came forward to rattle the hinges of its cage and threaten to pull Clarke down with it.

Her moan dies on the wind as Lexa moves to cradle her jaw, holding her captive as she licks into her mouth. Clarke's hands squeeze the swell of Lexa's perfectly round ass, earning a grunt of satisfaction at the way it made hips grind deliciously against hips.

It is a promise.

An oath.

A vow of things yet to come; a depraved sacrament sealed in lips and tongue for it all to be fulfilled later.

After this little shit got her ass off the ground.

Clarke pulls back from the kiss with a stinging bite to a plump lip, smirking at Lexa's hiss of pleasured pain.

"Stop stalling," Clarke says with a quick lap of her tongue to catch the trickle of blood before the wound can completely heal right before her eyes.

Pools of black glitter under the canopy of clouds as Lexa hums and smirks right back. "Not stalling," she lilts, fingers toying with shorter curls around Clarke neck. "Just tasting what's mine. It's the lord's day after all. Think of it like an act of worship."

"Baby." Clarke leans in and whispers against Lexa's lips. ".... You are so full of shit."

Her angel's laughter was light. Breathy, airy, and sweet, teeth flashing sharp and deadly in the richness of her joy.

Clarke traces her hands in loops along the holy ground nestled between shoulder blades. Expectant. Wanting. Waiting to give comfort to raw and reddened skin exposed by Lexa's loose fitting tank top like so many times before.

But as always, Lexa surpises her instead.

"Would you mind if I walk for a minute? I think," Lexa says around a thick swallow, "I think I need a moment to myself."

Clarke fights the crease of her frown, searching within the abyss of twin inky eyes and finding only resolution and calm. "Oh course, baby. Do you... Do you want me to go?"

"No," Lexa says quickly, extinguishing the embers of disappointment and alarm before they can set. The sloped tip of her lips is easy when she smiles, when she leans down and gives Clarke another lingering peck, when she pulls back and rests their heads together and releases a shaky sigh. "I always want you here, my love."

Clarke's arms hug Lexa tighter at the poorly concealed plea within the endearment.

The one that still makes Clarke's heart pound even after all these months of living in blissful sin.

"Okay, baby. Whatever you need," Clarke says in a silent promise right back, knowing Lexa hears the unspoken assurance that she's not going anywhere loud and clear.

They release each other with only a little nod of agreement. Clarke climbs onto the hood of the car when Lexa shakes her limbs loose and takes her leave, uncaring of ass prints or dents as she settles in for the show. The rain that clings to the paint seeps through her jeans, but she pays it no mind, eyes focused and forward on the retreating figure.

It wasn't entirely a surpise.

Because Lexa had been honest, had told her hesitation and why she hadn't truly used her wings in so long.

They'd been laying naked in bed, sweat cooling on their skin as they twisted and curled into each other. Sated sighs had given way to contented hums and sex-muddled grins as they'd rested on outstretched bed of feathers. Clarke's fingers slipped through the satiny black. Watching the plumes rise and fall like tiny cascades of water under her touch.

She would never get over their softness.

And she'd listened when Lexa had said just how intensely she hated them. How she wished every day that they were gone. How she loved Clarke touching her in every way possible... but kind of hated the sight of her touching them.

The idea of it broke Clarke's heart.

Because Lexa was beautiful, and so were her wings, and she knew in her soul one couldn't exist without the other. They were a pair, a holy union of flesh, feather, and bone; a devastating tableau gilded straight from the very heavens that had damned her. They'd endured an eternity of wrath and ire, and carried the scars of brimstone laden hellfire, and without their menacing shadow, Lexa would never be whole.

So Clarke had pushed.

Had worked to mend the tattered relationship between them in soft encouragement, and reverent touches, and a steady stream of praising words of devotion for the last true thing that tied Lexa to the place she'd never be allowed to call home again.

But this boundary, this final line of reconciliation... she knows there is nothing left for her to mend.

This last step was something Lexa had to do on her own.

The minutes tick by on breezes and sputters of mist as Clarke watches Lexa amble about the open space of the field. She watches her angel stop at every flower patch, pausing to pick a bloom or two, only to stand and twirl it between her fingers.

Crush it.

Cast it aside and move on.

A clap of thunder rolls off in the distance as Lexa comes to a stop in the center of the field, head tilting back in a whip of curls as Lexa lifts her face toward the sky.

The earth goes deathly quite.

Hands ball into fists, muscle and sinew tightening with the strain, and though Clarke can't see the welts crack and bleed from such a distance, she knows the heat and feel of their rawness well. Black blooms like inky puddles from Lexa's shoulders, dripping in midnight shaded curls that stretch and wind out to the sides. The wings unfurl and fluff themselves into existence in a sinister display of opulence, sleek and deliciously lethal against the field's serene backdrop.

It's enough to have the air catch in Clarke's throat, leaving her struggling around a breath because somehow the damn things seem... bigger.

Enormous, in fact, if her amateur artist's eye is to be trusted and the little demon voice in her head makes a joke about how her girlfriend is apparently a 'grower'.

Because now the wings stand tall, stretch wide to double their normal size and jesus christ why hadn't Lexa ever mentioned that those fuckers can get bigger?! Those wings that have caressed her and held her close, that have warmed her skin with their silken touch. Now they suddenly look so ominous. So lethally beautiful in their grandeur.

Slack jawed and gripping the hood of the car beneath her for dear life, Clarke watches as Lexa visibly breathes a sigh of relief once the whole ordeal is done. And she looks small, so painfully small standing there under the proud crown of feathers that have settled in a menacing halo around her back.

Face still turned up toward the heavens, Lexa takes a set forward in the clearing as her arms slowly rise at her sides.

She's a vision of all things holy, a Hadean picture of the damned and divine, an annointed messenger bearing witness to the gospel of heaven and hell standing right here on earth.

A gasp rises and dies in Clarke's throat when feathers span and stretch out, and with a ominous downward snap of her wings, Lexa takes off into the air.

The sudden whoosh of wind cracks across the clearing, kicking up fallen milkweeds and splintered grss blades and sending them spiraling through the air. The force is enough to have Clarke sitting back in surpise as her hair blows back off her face in a rippling puff. The trees sway and whine with the force, branches swing in protest of dancing leaves that flip and scatter on the wind.

Clarke's heart races at the sight of it.

At the sheer power of those wings bending the earth to their will.

It's beautiful. Ethereal. Terrifying to behold.

Clarke watches Lexa rise higher with each graceful flex and fold of them, wings stretching wide, lifting upward in an elegant arc only to swoop down in a rumbled clap of air. One leg bends at the knee as Lexa crests the tops of the trees, arms still relaxed and crooked at her sides as though she's floating on air.

She knows no virtuous salvation could ever rival the ecstacy of bearing witness to such a heavenly figure.

The clouds are truly a blessing in that moment, the stark white and grey of them throwing Lexa's wings into haunting, darkened relief. All black plumage looking as grimly void as the cosmos of space as they take flight across the upper crowning of trees.

Lexa flies steadily upward, gaining altitude in steady lifts and sudden bursts of wing-thrust. She loops sideways on breath of wind and barrels downward like slingshot, only for wings flatten and curl and whisk her skyward again.

Clarke's stomach lurches in commiseration, faintly imagining what it must feel like to be so high and so free. Feels the churn of their breakfast roll uneasily in her stomach every time Lexa takes a sharp turn, stops short to hover and look out over the world before taking off with another graceful whoosh of her wings.

The moments pass in the unsteady palpitations of her heart as Lexa disappears beyond the skyline only to reemerge again. She dips low along the tree tops, slices meticulously through their branches, and soars high enough to be nothing more than a speck among the clouds.

It's as terrifying as it is beautiful, and it makes Clarke with the knowledge that that's as close to the heavens as her lover will ever be.

Clarke clambers down from the hood when Lexa coasts close enough that she can feel the air swell with each beat of her wings.

Jet black eyes snap to her. Hold her. Pin her with their stare.

A stare gleaming with silver and gold speckles she's convinced her love has snatched right from the star strewn edges of the cosmos above.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Lexa's eyes look so alive.

The wind whips around the opening in lazy gulfs as Lexa descends back down toward earth, wings now beating a lazy rhythm that matches the slowing thump in Clarke's chest.

Lexa lands in flutter of feathers, all wild, windswept tendrils curls of brunette as her feet kiss the wearied grass blades below without a stumble or falter to be seen.

Before Clarke's world can stop spinning in the awe coursing through her veins, Lexa lurches forward, lips drawn back in a snarl and razor sharp teeth bared to the sky. Jet black eyes flash with murder as she collapses to her knees. A guttural growl rips through the serenity of the air as Lexa slams her fists to the earth in an echoing boom.

It's enough to make the very ground shake. Jolts Clarke straight through her bones. The ground cracks beneath them with the force of the blow, fracturing in tendrils that wind out from her fists and explode in a dirt-laden ploom.

The mud and dust settle in an eerie calm unbroken by even a songbird as the earth seems to still in the wake of Lexa's fury.

It is as thrilling as it is devastating to witness the full scale of Lexa's strength in the remnants of her heartbroken destruction.

Clarke inches toward her wild thing. Moves in slow, shuffling steps to not startle her, clinging to the last vestiges of her calm because at least one of them has to be, as she watches Lexa stay hunched there. Shaking, wings twitching with each labored breath.

She eases down to her knees, careful of the cracks that scorch the earth as she shuffles in as close as she can get through the protective crown of feathers that hover above. Her fingers ghost over chesnut curls that flutter madly in the wind to slip under the steeled bend of Lexa's chin.

Something in her breaks at the sight of her, face so angry and so lost and so achingly small in the towering blanket of her wing's shadow. Twin pools of black that look up at her beneath the hang of lashes. Looking so hallow, so haunted, wet with the tears that threaten to break loose and spill over.

"I thought I'd hate," Lexa croaks in a watery whisper through the sludge of emotion that clogs her throat. "I wanted to hate it... But I missed it."

The sting of her eyes turns Clarke's vision hazy as she gives a jerky nod of understanding and gathers the broken pieces of her angel into her arms.

[nerdherderette]

Undo The Blue

Breaking up with Derek and getting pushed out of the pack isn't the biggest news Stiles has to deal with.

It turns out he's also pregnant.

Peter grinned. The teeth that peeped out from behind his lips weren't even human. "Oh, I know how possessive Derek can be. Especially on a full moon. In fact, I'm counting on it." He pinned Stiles against the counter before Stiles could respond, a mountain of inhuman strength and bitter anger, then wrested the white plastic stick from Stiles' hand. "Hey, give that back—" Stiles said, reaching for it but missing. "He doesn't know, does he?" Peter laughed, a delighted, wicked sound that echoed off the bathroom's walls. "Oh, he doesn't. It's a good thing I'm adaptable, because this is going to be so much better." He turned to the woman, who hasn't done a thing, by the way, except to look like Galadriel under the influence of the Ring, and added, "It's time for Plan B."

For the Prompts: Falsely Accused. Heartbreak. Getting Back Together.

When I saw the theme and available prompts for this month's @syr-monthly 'Make Me Cry' event, I had to put my WIP aside for a sec because I'll always be a sucker for stories that make my heart ache. Thanks so much to @sterekyrround for being such a wonderful mod and the inspiration.

Rating: Mature

WC: 11.1k

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags (includes spoilers): False Accusations, Misunderstandings, Spells and Enchantments, Magical pregnancy, Mpreg, Referenced Cheating, Not Cheating, Jealous Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Is Pushed Out of The Pack, Heartbreak, Break Up, Getting Back Together, Sexual Content, Scent Marking, Come Marking, Minor Character Death, Alternating Timelines, POV Stiles Stilinski

Read it here on AO3

Part of @syr-monthly Make Me Cry April fest