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cacalowee · 2 years ago

Text

꒰ ΣMPƬY LӨVΣ ꒱

azriel x f!reader

synopsis : decades after you left azriel, searching for freedom, he finally goes to visit you, in hopes that you're willing to be friends, but unexpected heartbreak sends him tumbling through a lifetime's worth of memories

warnings : angst, fluff, sadness, suicidal thoughts, trauma, cursing, death

word count : 5,601

notes : ok, so this is something I've been thinking about for a while and I think I've finally got it all down. this was supposed to be a painfic that would help me deal, but I think it has also become more than that if that makes any sense? i don't know if I portrayed his pain well enough, but hopefully you like it

enjoy your reading

cal xx

It had been fifty-five years, three months, and twenty-three days since you left him, moments after the mating bond snapped into place. Every single second since then, Azriel could feel the link connecting you both fade slightly due to time and distance. Occasionally, he would think to tug on that bond, hoping there would be a reply on the other end, but then your wishes come to mind and he refrains himself, forcing himself to put his energy into something else.

And now, he couldn't feel anything. Over half a century later, the bond has faded to near-nothingness, except for the faint tendrils of light that were the memories both of you shared during your time together. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he liked to think that the faint connection he felt was you thinking of him from miles and miles away. But the reality was much harsher, the light being his own thoughts trying to fill in the missing hole in himself.

Fifty-five years, three months, and twenty-three days after that unfateful day . . .

"Az?" you whispered softly, brushing your hand softly over his as you turned to face the breathtaking male laying down next to you on the roof of the House of Wind.

"Hm?" he murmured, turning your hand over so he could hold it gently. His eyes found yours and you stared deep into the warm amber color of them, mesmerized. It didn't matter how often you saw the comforting shade, they would always be striking.

"The stars are pretty tonight," you said, your gaze drifting over his shoulder for a moment before snapping it back to Azriel's eyes. The stars you had caught in that brief glance were . . . breathtaking. You had always loved the night sky, but experiencing the stars every night in the Night Court was an absolute dream come true. The stars glimmered against the dark purple of the sky, shining their light down on you and your lover, lighting up his hazel colored eyes. Azriel hummed his agreement, his eyes not straying from your own for one second.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked quietly, noting the slightly faraway look in his eyes. Like his mind was galaxies away, but his body was left here with you.

"Just you, as usual. You're beautiful beyond words. And I love you so much," he whispered, pulling your joined hands toward his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of yours.

You smiled, "You're more gorgeous than the stars could ever be, and that's saying something. And I love you more."

Azriel tilted his head back and laughed freely, not agreeing with your sentiment, but reveling in the love that he felt from you anyway. When he looked back at you again, there was something different on your face. There wasn't a single glint of sarcastic humor in your eyes, the warm shade filled with pure joy and love. And Azriel would give away the entire fucking world for you to always feel that way. You were his entire world anyway.

His breath hitched as there was a sharp tug on his heart—his soul—and a blinding light erupted behind his eyes. When he blinked the brightness away, there was a warm glow in his chest and he felt the glowing bond connecting both of your closely intertwined bodies.

In that moment, he felt an unreal amount of joy. There was nothing in the world that could trump that level of happiness and love he felt at that moment. Because it was something he never thought he could have for himself. He had never thought the impossible would happen to him.

"You're my mate," he breathed, still not believing the worlds coming out of his mouth in a rushed gasp. You turned extremely still in his embrace and for a moment, he let himself hope that you would lean in and tell him you accepted the bond.

But the things he wished for tended to avoid him.

You disentangled yourself from him, releasing his hand that you had clutched so tightly moments before.

"What?" you asked, almost regretfully.

"We're mates."

You stared at him for almost an eternity, the sorrow in your eyes nearly breaking him. You had been so happy moments before. And he had screwed it up.

"No."

No, such a simple word that can hold so much meaning. Too much meaning. Azriel held his breath, trying to numb his body so he wouldn't feel the inevitable stab of pain in his chest. The lack of oxygen made no difference. There was a dagger buried deep in his heart. He was dying. He was sure of it. The pain felt so real, and he knew subconsciously that it was real pain. Excruciating emotional pain.

"No, I'm so sorry, I can't do this."

Azriel couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe or think or come up with a rational response. All he could do was stare blankly at you, hoping that this entire thing was a nightmare he would wake up from and be able to hold you tightly in bed next to him.

"I—It's too early. I-I can't do this right now," you stammered, staring at a spot on the rooftop in front of Azriel, but he still caught the tears lining your eyes. "I-I want to live life, I want to experience things. I didn't think this would last this long, but if I had known . . ."

With every word out of your mouth, Azriel felt a small part of him die. He remained quiet, not sure what to say or how to say it. Even if he did, he wasn't sure if he could say it.

"Please. Az. Please know that I love you so, so much. I don't think that I would be the same without you. You truly have changed me and I wouldn't have traded our time together for anything. But this wouldn't have lasted. You know that. You're the spymaster of the Night Court and I'm just a random faerie who you met a few years ago," you felt the tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to cry, you didn't want to taint this moment any more than you already have.

"Your status doesn't matter to me. Not at all. I love you no matter what," he whispered, unable to stand the thought of you thinking that you were less than him. You weren't. In fact, you were better than him. You were all the things he was not. You were kind, loyal, funny, and an exceptional friend. You would stay behind and check up on others if you knew they were struggling. You would lend a hand whenever you could, not expecting any type of reward or acknowledgment for what you had just done. You were too good for him. Maybe that's why you were leaving. Because you had finally realized that.

"I know that. You were always special that way. But, apparently, our time together is up. I'm so sorry, Az. But, please, let me go. I want to experience life. I don't want to settle down and not know true freedom. I've been trapped all my life. Please, give me a chance to live." Your gaze slowly drifted up to meet his and he felt the remaining bits of his heart shatter at the absolute heartbreak written clear on your face.

"I love you so much, but please, let me be free," you whispered, the hot tears sliding down your cheeks no matter how hard you tried to repress them. Azriel reached out for your hands, finding them in the dark. He couldn't deny that wish. He knew about your childhood, how you were locked away and confined by the strict rules of society. He could understand your need for freedom. And he couldn't deny you.

"I understand. Be free. I was never in change of your freedom, y/n. You were. You could have left whenever you wanted. But I love you so much too. I hope you know that. If and when you ever decide to come back, I'll always be here waiting. No matter what happens or how much time has passed. Know that you will always have a friend in the Night Court." Azriel pulled you in tight for a final hug before releasing you. He offered you a sad smile and your lips wobbled for a moment before you threw yourself at him and held him tightly.

"Thank you so much, Azriel. For our time together. I will come back. I promise. Maybe in fifty years. Maybe less. But . . . come and find me if you want, after half a century has passed. I know you can. And, I think I would be ready by then." You pulled back and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing yourself up to standing.

"Goodbye, Azriel," you said, looking down at him for what would be the last time. "I love you."

He watched you leave, watching as every step you took that led you further away from him left his heart even more shattered than before if that was possible.

"I love you more," he whispered, the night his only witness as he kept his eyes on your retreating figure.

It had been over half a century. Maybe you had truly forgotten him, the fading bond solid proof of that. Or maybe you still weren't ready. Or maybe you found someone else, someone who could fulfill your need to be free while loving you unconditionally.

But you had promised to come back. At some point. And he knew you well enough that you would never break a promise.

So he would try to look for you.

Even if you didn't want him, he could at least make sure you were safe and happy. All he wanted was for you to be safe and happy.

Safe and happy . . .

With your face in mind, the memories of you barely dimming after five decades apart, Azriel sent a burst of his shadows out into the world, searching for the other half of his soul.

+ + +

It had been two days since he sent his shadows and spies out into the different courts to look for you. There was a solid possibility that you had traveled beyond Prythian and gone to the Continent for a sense of freedom.

But no matter what, he would find you.

In any world, time, or space.

With you constantly on his mind, he couldn't bring himself to read through the reports his spies sent him for another job that Rhys sent Az on. To him, that was secondary to the news of your wellbeing.

Azriel rubbed his temples and stood up from his desk, feeling the blood rush from his brain, likely from the lack of proper sleep or food. He stood there for a moment, orientating himself before stepping out of his office.

He walked down the halls of the House of Wind, not paying any particular detail to his surroundings, a first for the Spymaster of the Night Court.

He numbly walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot that was half full on the countertop. It didn't matter that the drink had been cooling for hours and was now room temperature. All he needed was a distraction.

"Az? I thought you were in the Winter Court working on something for Rhys," Cassian said suddenly, making Azriel jump slightly from his spot leaning against the counter.

"No, yeah, I came back early. My spies can retrieve the information easy enough," he replied.

Cass peered closer at Azriel's face, noting the dark eye bags and half-lidded eyes from his poor sleep schedule. "You okay? When was the last time you took a break and rested?"

Azriel shrugged, not caring to remember when he last cared for his wellbeing. He could lie and say a week ago, but Cass wouldn't believe that. Az didn't know when the last time he had a full night's rest was. Probably before you left, if he was being honest with himself.

Cassian sighed, tossing him an apple from the fruit basket near the oven. "Eat that or I'm reporting it back to Rhys."

"Report what? My eating and sleeping habits?" Azriel retorted, though his tone and expression weren't matching the teasing words.

Cassian offered him a concerned look, but didn't say anything further. "Just eat. And take the rest of the day off too. You look dead, Az. Please, go rest. Let your spies take over for the next day or two. Like you said, they got it."

Azriel stared blankly at his brother, screaming at himself to agree to his terms, but he couldn't lie to Cass. Both of them knew that once Cassian left the kitchen, Az would head straight back to his office and skim through more papers that he wasn't remotely interested in reading.

But less than a second later, Azriel's entire demeanor changed when a swarm of his shadows rushed into the room, their song blending in with one another until he called one shadow forward to relay the entirety of the information.

His heart was alight with hope, the thought of his mate making it lighter than it had been in decades.

"Az? What is it? The Winter Court?" Cassian asked, his eyebrow cocked at the massive gathering of darkness in the room.

"No, something much more important. Excuse me, I have to go. See you later, Cass," Azriel breathed as his shadows rushed after him, content to trail him on his way to you. As he ran through the halls, desperate to reach a balcony, they whispered and sang your whereabouts into his ear, one of them mentioning a letter addressed to you found the Day Court.

To only think, you were only a court away.

Azriel raced toward the open balcony doors, not bothering with niceties as he ran past a confused Nesta.

His wings automatically unfurled the moment he stepped outside and he was up in the air within seconds. He didn’t look back as he flew for a whole day straight toward his mate.

His mate . . .

+ + +

Azriel landed in a small village, the name of the town the only thing written on the letter besides ‘Day Court’. After twenty-six hours of straight flight, he landed in a clearing in the forest near you, his breaths coming in fast from the sheer exhaustion and excitement. He practically ran into the village, noting nothing of significance. He walked around for a few hours at first, hoping to catch sight of you meandering along the roads, doing whatever it is you wanted.

But after a while, he realized despite the size of the town, the fae there were numerous.

At first, he only asked a select few people about you, trying to keep his search a secret, but the more people who gave him a confused look and the more time that had passed made Azriel more desperate to find you.

After a few more hours, he was asking anyone and everyone he saw on the street if they had even heard of you, but most of the people he talked to shook their heads no and left on their merry way. Some offered sympathetic glances or arm pats, but no one went as far as to help him look.

Of course not. Who would help me?

He snorted at himself when that notion first came to mind, but then the thought increasingly turned sadder until he started to flat-out sprint just to avoid his thoughts. When Azriel reached a bar toward the center of town, he walked in, thinking that if no one had heard of you, he could at least have a drink and hopefully calm his speeding heart.

When he walked in, he noticed what he thought was a tavern was actually a diner. And a bar. The diner-half was full of smiling and laughing faeries, all enjoying their time together. The bar-half was almost empty, save for a few fae who looked a couple glasses drunk. And who could blame them? It was midday, the second day of Azriel's search for you, and the servers had no one else to attend to.

Azriel sent his shadows skittering to the different corners of the diner / bar, hoping they blended in with the shadows of people eating and chatting. But the agitated mass of darkness only darkened the room and sent a wave of chills across every body in its path.

Azriel walked up to a group of females chatting animatedly over a light lunch and cleared his throat.

He softened his stance, trying not to seem too intimidating. He needed people to talk to him. Azriel dropped his arms to hang casually at his sides and relaxed his facial features to give the allusion of serenity. Or something close to it.

“Have you heard or seen of anyone named y/n?” he asked when the females turned to him. Tucking his hands behind his back, he shifted uncomfortably under their gazes as they stared at him for a few seconds.

“No, I’m sorry. We don’t,” one of the females said, offering a sympathetic smile before turning back to their friends.

“Ok, thank you,” he said quietly before heading off toward the next table. Before he could take another step though, he caught sight of a female carrying a tray of drinks headed right for him.

He quickly stepped out of the way as she walked right by him and placed the drinks on the table of the females he just left.

“Uh, hi?” she said, her greeting sounding more like a question. She tilted her head. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually. Do you know anyone named y/n?” Azriel asked, knowing the answer before it left her mouth. Of course it would be a no. Then he would continue on asking everyone in town for someone who seemed to not have existed to them. Maybe the address was wrong. Maybe Azriel went to the wrong town. Maybe, maybe, maybe . . .

But before he turned away again, the female who had been carrying the tray of drinks touched his arm. He whirled toward her, confused for a second before catching a glimpse of the tears lining her eyes.

“Are you a friend of hers?” she asked and Azriel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was getting closer to seeing you again.

“Yes, sort of,” he said, not caring to elaborate on their situation.

The female’s eyes clouded over with grief and Azriel’s stomach turned. “We were friends over a decade ago. She was amazing. When she first got here, I knew she was a good person from the start. I think she had been traveling Prythian, just exploring.”

Azriel knew the reason for the explanation, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell too much on it. It couldn’t be true. This female must have the wrong y/n.

“I’m so sorry, but she died a dozen years ago during one of Hybern’s raids. She died fighting and protecting my baby sister. And I owe everything to her.”

Azriel’s world stop. His entire self stopped. He stopped breathing and his heart stopped for a second as well. He could’ve sworn time itself took a break just to absorb this new piece of information.

You were gone. Dead.

You had died protecting a young female, a hero til the end.

“She was an amazing person though. I hope you know that,” the female said, offering her condolences. That word shouldn’t hurt so much. Was. You were dead. You were past tense. Was. There one second and gone the next. And then you become a was.

Azriel nodded stiffly, expressing thanks and walked quickly out of the diner, trying to staunch the waves of emotions rushing over him.

No, no, no.

You couldn’t be dead. There was no way that was true. Because . . . because if it were, that meant that—

It meant that half of his soul was gone as well. It had left the second you had passed on and entered the next world. Maybe that was why the bond had faded so much. To the point where he had to delude himself into feeling the shimmering rope that tied both of your souls together. The bond that was no longer there and hadn’t been for a dozen years.

Desperately, he tried feeling for that link between the both of you, but he was grasping for empty air. There was nothing there anymore.

A sob ripped from deep in his chest, the pain radiating throughout his body. He tried taking in a deep breath, to clear his mind, but his knees trembled and he felt hot tears clouding his vision.

Dead, dead, dead.

Tears wracked his body as he lifted his wings in the air and pushed off of the ground in a solid wing beat. He was flying blindly, no set destination in mind. His tears ran down his cheeks in streams of pain, the wetness dripping off his chin.

You had never known the full intensity of his love.

That was all Azriel could think of as he thought about your last night together, the words coming to his lips, but not daring to escape. You would never know.

And that harsh reality struck him like lightning and he found himself dropping from the sky. He plummeted toward the ground, not a single fiber in him caring.

Instinct kicked in at the last second and he spread his wings to slow his fall, his knees buckling on impact. He didn't care.

His legs trembled and he crashed to the ground onto his knees, his head dropping down in defeat. Az let his wings relax and drag on the ground, not caring about any stupid, fucking Illyrian rules.

He sat there for a while, letting the tears come and go, letting himself feel the pain of your loss. But he had to get up at one point. Even if he was content to stay there forever and let himself rot on the very ground that you had died on.

He lifted his head, trying to look up at the bright sky for comfort, but his eyes snagged on a small worn-down cottage at the end of the road he was currently kneeling on. He pushed himself up to standing and he slowly walked toward the house, an undescribable tug drawing him closer.

When he reached the stormy blue door, he almost sobbed again, the paint the exact shade of your favorite color. Was it . . . was this your house?

Azriel tried the handle and felt no resistance, so he turned the doorknob and the door swung open, the hinges squeaking with age.

He peered inside, the small home reminding himself of your bedroom. How could it not with its icy blue curtains and pure white furniture despite the numerous complaints from your mouth at the stains littering the light fabric? It was an exact replica of your room at the House of Wind. And that may not have meant anything, but his eyes strayed to a framed photo of you holding a small dog, a wide grin on your face.

His heart stuttered at that. You had been so happy . . .

He took another step into the room, a creamy white envelop lying on the dining table in the room next door snagging his attention from the open doorway. He walked toward it unconsciously, the rectangular piece of paper solid proof of your existence.

His heart dropped, and so did he when he saw the name scrawled on the envelope. Azriel.

The second impact on his knees hit harder than the first, but he all but crawled toward the awaiting letter. The second his hands touched the parchment, he tore it open and read through the letter slowly and carefully, absorbing each and every word.

Dear Azriel,

I know it's been forty years since I've left. I didn't think I would be away this long, but there were so many places to see and not enough time. And well . . . time has passed. Quite quickly.

Of course, neither of us are the same. We've both changed. Forty years can change any person. I would like to say I've changed for the better. And I've matured. Or at least, I hope I have.

The way I left you was horrible. I was . . . scared, I guess. I couldn't think about not being able to travel and live. And I've also been too scared to write to you. That's why this letter is twenty years late.

Maybe if I had the courage to send something to you earlier, we would be happily mated and living together right now.

But I was a coward.

Hopefully, this letter makes up for the lost time. Because I'm ready now. I have been for a while. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. I love you so much. Please, if it's not too much to ask, I would like to visit you.

I completely understand if you had found someone else in the years I've been away. Forty years is a long time.

But, best wishes to you Azriel. I love you so, so much.

y/n xx

You had written. You had wanted to be with him. But you had died before you could send it. Before you could be in his arms again. And for that, Azriel broke. Completely.

Everything that he felt multiplied and he felt the pain and years of longing swirl around him in a hurricane, dragging him with it.

Years and years of silently suffering, hoping you would one day walk back into his life and brighten it. Make everything worth living. Bring life to him.

But you would never, ever give him another smile. Another laugh. Another grin. Another hug. Another kiss.

That warm spot in his heart that he reserved solely for you exploded. All the happy memories he had stored away in there when the past became too much endured flowed out in a steady stream, each memory fighting for attention at the front of his brain.

Azriel was walking along the Sidra, trying to clear his mind. Sometimes, even the quietness of his home was too much and his head swarmed with unwanted thoughts. Uncontrollable thoughts that dragged him down with them.

He kicked a stone from the center of the dirt path and watched it drop into the water running in a calming flow to the right of him. The sounds of the river helped drown out his inner, self-deprecating monologue and he took a clearing breath.

There was a sudden, loud thud behind him and he whirled around, his hand poised on the handle of Truth-Teller. What he saw was a young female face-planting on the well-trodden path.

He froze but immediately rushed over to you to help you up. As he extended his scarred hand, you pushed yourself onto your knees and grinned sheepishly up at him. Without a second of hesitation, you took his outstretched hand and pulled yourself up, brushing the dirt from your leggings.

"Thanks," you said, face flush with embarrassment.

"It was no problem," he replied and you rewarded him with a breathtaking, dazzling smile beyond words. His breath caught and you continued on your way, a slight bounce to each step.

He fell in love that day. Maybe not for you entirely, as he had just met you. But you were someone he would want to be with. Someone he thought he could love.

And the rest was history.

A strangled sob broke past his lips as your first meeting with him played over and over in his mind. You were so happy. You had been alive. And now you were gone.

After that initial meeting, you bumped into each other a few more times until he worked up the courage to ask you to lunch. You had accepted. The both of you grew closer. You fell in love. Then the mating bond snapped, and you left to live your life.

His mind was the perfect torture machine, each painful and yet wonderful memory of the both of you during your time together flaring up in perfect detail.

You laughing as a star splashed across your face during Starfall.

You grinning as you and Azriel teased each other.

Your determined expression as you sparred with him.

Cassian swinging an arm over you, loudly making fun of Mor.

Mor and you going dress shopping and dragging Az along.

Azriel and you reading together in the safe confines of the library.

"I love you so much, y/n," he breathed.

You smiled tenderly, "I love you more than any words can express, and I will always love you, even after the Mother claims us."

The small conversations the both of you had together . . .

"What do you think happens after death?"

"I'd rather not think about that. What about all the living that can be done right now?"

Dancing at Rita's.

Drinking til you're stupid drunk.

Messy kisses.

Obnoxious laughter.

Every smile.

Every grin.

Every laugh.

Every embrace.

Every kiss.

Every 'I love you'.

Playing over and over in his mind, each repetition a new stab to the heart. Over and over again. Until he couldn't take it anymore. Over and over again. Until he was sure his heart was in shambles and he couldn't ever move again. Over and over again. Until he wished for death just so it would stop.

You had wanted to go and live your life like a free spirit. Unlike when you were a child and trapped in the confines of your home. You were trapped your entire life. Simple things to others were impossible privileges to you.

You wanted to experience everything the Mother could offer you.

And Azriel let you go, because he didn't want to weigh you down.

And now you were dead. Gone forever.

Never to laugh or smile or grin or dance or sing again.

Silent.

Quiet.

Dead.

Empty love.

Because Azriel was still alive and you weren't. His other half. Gone. Dead.

The only reason for his survival so far. Gone.

Az wanted to follow you into the afterlife. He wanted to be reunited with you, even if it meant leaving his family behind. Because what was life without you in it? Nothing, that's what.

You brought sunshine to any rainy day.

You were the light in his darkness.

You were the green sprout that sprung up amidst the cold deadness of the world.

You brought happiness to everything you touched. Gave it life. Just like you did to him. You brought him back to life, after the childhood that had killed him.

And then you killed him again when you left. Like you're killing him again now. But he was already past gone, his soul empty the second you left.

You were the shoulder to lean on when things became too much. Whenever his life caught up to him. Whenever he couldn't handle another day, you were ready for him. You were ready to stay up all night holding him or talking through anything that he wanted to. You didn't erase his pain. You soothed it. Brought it down to a manageable level. You had warmed his dead heart.

The heart that was turning still and cold while still beating incessantly.

His body shook with sobs, his entire weight against the table. It was the only thing holding him up. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't survive. The pain wrenched a shudder from his body and he slid further down toward the floor. His heart clenched and his stomach flipped, his lungs screaming for the air he wouldn't give to them.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the sudden intake causing a shudder to ripple throughout his body.

He couldn't live while you were dead.

He wanted to follow you and find you in the afterlife. He wanted to take his blade and sheath it deep into his heart. He wanted to bleed out and let his soul drift up toward you. He wanted to leave any emotion or feeling behind.

His fingers trailed toward the blade strapped to his thigh, his thoughts screaming at him, not allowing a single moment of silence to think his decision through.

He was going to you. He was going to see you again.

But you wouldn't want that.

You would want Az to live, to experience all that you could not. To experience the love and happiness that you could no longer feel.

If Death claimed you, then it evaded him, allowing Az to wield it like a weapon instead of bringing him down to its level.

His fingers strained toward the blade, wrapping themselves around the solid handle.

But, but, but . . .

You would kill him for even thinking of doing this. It was worth it though, to be able to hold you in his arms one last time.

He could almost hear your voice through the haze of his mind, Please, Az, no. Live. For me.

He would do anything for you. Even if it meant giving up eternity with you.

So Azriel would live. Continue living. Not thriving, however. Just surviving. Because you were gone. But he would do that for you. He would live.

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crymeariveronceagain · 3 years ago

Note

What do you think Biana wears?

How do you think Biana does her hair/makeup?

(Mashing these two together because they're in the same boat.)

Ok this is slightly complicated because if there's one thing this girl knows how to do it is dress for the occasion. She knows what to wear, how to wear it, and when to wear it.

She's basically everything I wish I was with clothing.

She dresses casual, on casual days(basically whenever she doesn’t have to leave the house). And when she gets home from school. This girl is all sweatshirts and sweatpants and messy buns. If she’s feeling like it, she’ll take off her makeup and curl up on her bed with a good book. She’s got tye-dyed shirts, sweaters, sweatpants. She’s got old and nearly ragged pieces of cloth that she hangs onto because they’re soft. And, admittedly, while she’d never ever either be allowed or want to leave her house looking like “such a mess”, she wears her casual clothes all the time when she doesn’t have to be anywhere.

She dresses classy, when she goes to school. Pleated skirts to school, her uniform crisp and immaculately clean. She’s got one uniform to wear for every day, and at the end of the week, she does her laundry, and wonders if she really wants and needs all that many skirts. She’ll use some light jewelry, sometimes, or hair pins to add some sparkle. She usually has her hair down, for school, but sometimes wears it half up, twisted behind her. It’s a very simple, classic hairstyle, but hot dang if she can’t rock it. Her makeup is usually very natural, or at least what looks like natural. I personally have a headcanon that this girl has vitiligo, and usually covers it up with makeup. But other than that, it looks very neat and very classy. Not a lot of eyeliner, not a lot of mascara, not a lot of lipstick. She aims for a natural look, usually, and it looks really good on her.

When she goes out with her parents, around town, or with her friends, and it’s more formal than her casual, but less formal than school, she’ll keep her hair in whatever hair style’s simplest, whether a ponytail high up on her head, or down in whatever way she did it for school today, or just altogether down. She’ll wear whatever makeup she already had on, or about the same as she does for school. Maybe she’ll add in more eyeliner, or maybe some brighter lipstick, if she’s feeling like it. She wears clothes that are classy and fashionable. She’s got button up shirts to tuck into accordion pleated skirts, skinny dark wash jeans and baggy sweatshirts that she puts on the top of her tanktop, and those cute fun spaghetti strap dresses that you can layer over the top of other shirts. She’s cute, and she knows it. She’ll accessorize, too, with rings or necklaces or bracelets or earrings. She always looks put together, when she goes out, and she has a really good eye for matching colors and matching clothes.

When she’s around her family, she usually goes for light, fluttery dresses. Her family is pretty traditional, so she usually tries to wear fairly traditional clothes. She doesn’t mind it at all, and she always knows and thinks she’s pretty. She keeps her makeup very soft and barely there. Except, she might go for a shocking color of lipstick. Just to keep people on their toes.

This girl. Can dress. So Formal. You’ll want her to be at your wedding. Just because she’s that gorgeous, that fancy, that sparkly. Floofy dresses, her hair done up in intricate ways, her eyes outlined with the most perfect makeup you’ve ever seen. She looks like a goddess, like a princess, and like a fairy, all at once. She wears it all so well and she walks like she was born to wear stilletos. Her hear is always held high and you can tell that she loves wearing this kind of thing. She loves looking and feeling like the absolute queen that she is.

This girl loves the color purple. Like, oh my stars. I am wholly willing to bet that at least 55% of her wardrobe is various shades of purple. 25% of it is teal. The rest of it is other colors. She’s a purple and blue gal. She likes those colors.

She has THE MOST. EXTENSIVE. MAKEUP COLLECTION. She knows how to do the things with the makeup!!! I am so proud of her!!!

Jewelry style is pretty light, usually, and she doesn’t go for bigger pieces? Like, if asked(or demanded) she’ll wear really extravagant jewelry pieces, but overall, she goes for softer, lighter things. She doesn’t like stuff that weighs her down.

Biana Vacker Style Aesthetic(moodboard??):

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weeping-bat · 4 years ago

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MCYT wing AU make brain go brrr

( All platonic!! )

Imagine...

Dream has big, sleek black wings. Except their not really black.. in the sun/moonlight they look like a beautiful shade of dark emerald green (#013220) and are honestly mesmerizing to look at.

SapNap probably has either ombré wings that go from pitch black to flaming orange or just solid black wings, there’s ne in between. Either way, he loves to show them off to people. Lets be honest, he probably really loves to race and put them to the test. He also starts competitions with dream, seeing which one of the two has bigger wings, and Sap probably gets cramps from trying to extend them too much.

George probably has soft alice blue wings (#F0F8FF) that match the color of the sky. He takes phenomenal care of them and loves to wrap people up when hugging them, which make you feel safe and comforted. And if he’s cold and alone he’ll just wrap himself up in them, to keep him warm.

Tommyinnit probably has warm toned white wings that he’s oh, so proud to show off to people. Takes very, very good care of them and probably flies a lot. Did someone say.. tricks? This mfer probably learns tricks and does them constantly just to show off. ‘Hey! Hey, guess what? I learned a new trick! Wanna see it? Watch me!’

Let’s be honest, Tubbo would have wings that look similar to a bees. He loves them, can’t fly very fast like Tommy, but he loves sitting criss cross while hovering and doing whatever he’s doing. He also loves that they sparkle in the sunlight.

Wilbur’s definitely would be light grey (#949494) Not too keen on showing them off but secretly loves them and the compliments he gets with them. He probably loves to wrap them around his friends when hugging them, or even if their cold to keep them warm.

Eret’s are probably such a beautiful shade of cherry red (#B00000). He takes phenomenal care of them, making sure their always clean. And their definitely super proud of them. Always subtly showing them off when their in public. Not to mention how big they probably are, so their even more intimidating than they were before.

Quackity would be so cocky about his. Like, this bitch knows his wings are big and soft. And their probably a really beautiful dark blue too (#0C1559), so he knows they look good. Whenever you call him short he sort of hovers above you saying ‘who’s the small one now?’ with a shit eating grin on his face. But when your upset he hugs you and wraps them around you to help make you feel better.

Technoblade, like Wilbur, probably isn’t too keen on showing them off, even though their a gorgeous shade of lavender grey (#c4c3d0) He usually has them tucked away but very useful for mobility, especially if he has to be somewhere in a hurry. But secretly enjoys the compliments he gets with them and will sometimes let you help him take care of them.

Fundy’s are probably such a beautiful shade of sunset orange (#ff4c00). He probably subconsciously floats too. Like you’ll walk in his room and he’s just, sitting in mid air looking at stuff on his phone and won’t notice until you say something.

Nikki has such pretty cherry blossom pink wings (#FFC0CB). Imagine sitting in a meadow picking flowers with one another and you feel something bump into you. When you look over to ask what’s wrong, she’s just picking some flowers and putting them in a small basket, her wings extended wide, shimmering in the sunlight

Minx’s are probably thistle purple (#D8BFD8) and hella soft. Their not quite for racing like Sapnap’s or build for speed like Tommy’s. But they are absolutely perfect for hugs, and they look pretty intimidating when she puffs them up to scare off gross dudes who try to fuck with you or her.

Schlatt’s are probably a light shade of creme/beige (#F5DEB3) and hates when people touch them. He never really uses them since he see’s no need too and has them tucked away all the time. But when he gets protective or angry they kinda just pop out and puff up without him realizing it. And their huge so they definitely will scare people off.

BBH’s are probably an impressive shade of mahogany (#8B0000). Super gentle with them and loves wrapping you and himself up in them for (platonic) cuddles, especially when you’re feeling upset. And probably goes for night flies with you just to land on top of a small building and watch the city lights.

Skeppy’s are probably teal (#00CED1) Like a pastel-ish teal. They pop out randomly sometimes which scares both you and him. And he doesn’t mind if you play with them from time to time, he finds it relaxing since when he’s stressed his wings tend to tense up. He probably asks you to help him groom the back of them since he probably can’t reach them himself.

Spifey’s are probably or a cold shade of white. He loves wrapping them around people and they always flutter when he gets excited, it’s so cute. And he loves when you put little flowers here and there to sort of decorate them. It makes him so happy.

Karl’s wings are lavender purple (#E6E6FA) and extremely fluffy. He always gets them dirty and ruffled up when he skates but that’s okay. He fucking loves showing them off to people and even does stunts with them. I’m sure he and Tommy would do some impressive tricks together if they could.

Slimecicle’s wings are a Seafoam green (#8FBC8F) and are pretty large in both length and width. He gets way more intimidating when he puffs them up and they shimmer in the moonlight.

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igottiny · 4 years ago

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Got7 reaction to you dying your hair to match theirs.

Mark - Having had two different shades of red in the past, he was stoked to be returning to that general color. This time it was a beautiful maroon. When he arrived home you wouldn’t stop praising how well it complemented his complexion to which he replied that you would also look good in red. So of course, that’s what you did the next day while he was in rehearsals. By time dinner rolled around you were walking through the practice room door bringing the boys food with your new look. Chaos ensued and Mark was literally floored.

“Babe. I didn’t think you would take it seriously but damn am I glad you did,” he said from where he sat on the floor in the middle of the room. “We should match more often. That way there is no doubt to everyone else that you’re mine.”

Jackson - Neither of you have had dark hair colors for a while and it was starting to take a toll on both of your scalps. So when you saw that Jackson’s hair had been died back to black when you met up for lunch, this seemed like the perfect time. Quickly buying the necessary supplies you headed home to color your own hair dark as the night before he could arrive home. When he arrived home he screamed. Who was the dark beauty in front of him?

“Honey, you look like the ruler of darkness and I don’t know why I find it so attractive right now. Let’s be raven haired rulers of darkness together as we match. Let’s take over the world together! We shall rule all!” He was always so dramatic.

JB - Grey? Done before. Blonde? Also been done. So when the stylist showed him the color swatch of a very light pale silver that was just on the grey side of white, he was in love. No one would expect this look. And you certainly didn’t. You couldn’t stop touching it and playing with it while he was cooking dinner you were so fascinated.

“If you like it so much and want to play with it, why not just color your own hair the same color,” he asked.

This sounded like the perfect solution to you. The next day you had off work, so you went down to your salon to be transformed. It was close to the same; the shade slightly darker but it was close enough for you. You finally got out just in time to meet him outside the JYP building. You both stared at each other for a long moment.

“Now I get to play with your hair cause you wear it better. That’s hardly fair by the way. Change it back.”

Jinyoung - He was nervous. He preferred to stick with darker colors if they were going to color his hair at all. Luckily he didn’t have any acting projects lined up at the moment. Walking out of the company affiliated salon with hair the same shade of blue as the sky had him tugging on a baseball cap really fast. For the first time in a while he felt out of his element. With his schedule done for the night, he set out for home. Once home he made the attempt to just burry himself in a book to take his mind off of it all.

You’ve seen him do this before. When something is bothering him he either goes for a walk or doubles down on whatever book he was currently trying to finish. His cap wasn’t doing much to actually hide his hair as he kept pushing it up to get better light to read by. You loved the color on him. It brightened up his features. The new lighter tone was beautiful so you decided that tomorrow you would show him just how much the color rocked. You barely made it to the practice room before their break ended, your hair appointment taking much longer than you anticipated. There was no mistaking Jinyoung’s smile as he pulled you close.

“Why,” he asked.

“Because I couldn’t look like a pile of trash next to you. Now we are both stunning.”

This is exactly why he said you were a keeper. Always knew just what to do and say to make his whole world better.

Youngjae - It was too purple to be red, but purple wasn’t right either. Either way, it was so different from any color he has had before that he loved it. It was bright and vibrant. He felt like a game or anime character. He sent you a selfie showing it off since you were out of town for work. The moment you saw the picture you know this was it. You had been talking about matching his next hair color, mostly as a joke, if only to be consistent as you both have had black hair for almost the entire time you had been together. When you got back to Seoul, you had plenty of time to spare before he would get home.

However, you had barely made it home before he did. You had just finished hanging up your hat, scarf, and coat, and taking off your boots when he walked through the front door.

“You were serious the whole time. I can’t believe you were serious about it this whole time. What about work,” he asked.

“Youngjae, I’m part of a journalism team, but I’m on the crew behind the camera. Our sound engineer has lime green hair. I’m fine.”

“That you are baby. That you are,” he says in awe.

Bambam - He was always the one getting the lighter hair colors so having a darker than normal tone was a miracle in and of itself. This was a true blue; like fresh out of a primary colors crayon box blue. This was going to be so much fun, if only the rest of his day didn’t consist of rehearsals and meetings to prepare for and go over their schedules regarding the filming the music video and the album photoshoots. By the end of the day he was exhausted and fell asleep while on a video call with you. It was moments like this that made you really appreciate him. He said he couldn’t sleep without seeing you smile and you wanted to show him that you were thankful that he cared.

As soon as your weekend girls trip was over you went straight to the salon after dropping off your luggage at home. You had previously been granted access passes for filming and photoshoot locations as BamBam often dragged you along before you had one anyway. Just giving you a standard pass like an employee of JYP would get simply made it easier. You stood with the rest of the members and waited for the photographer to signal the end of BamBam’s solo shoot. He was excited to say the least when he spotted you.

He stopped with the most exaggerated shocked expression possible before he ran over and threw himself at you. His smile reached his eyes as he exclaimed, “Jagi! We match! The color looks so good on you too!”

“I wanted to make you smile like you make me smile. You’re the most handsome when you smile,” you said locking eyes with him. His smile and the tight hug were everything and filled you both with warmth. The other members just looked on fondly. They couldn’t tease even if they wanted too.

Yugyeom - He absolutely loved his new hair color. Even if Youngjae and BamBam compared him to a dandelion and a dollop of mustard. He honestly liked this goldenrod yellow better than the bright yellow he had during the “7 for 7” era. Although he couldn’t resist playing along and stating that if he was a dandelion, then JB with his pale silver hair was the aged dandelion that you made wishes on before blowing away the seeds. He survived making that comment only because you had arrived with lunch. And of course this gave you ideas. You couldn’t let him out do you.

The next day while they had their last rehearsals before they started filming, you made a trip to the salon and from there the department store. You rushed to change once you made it to the JYP building as their practice was about to end for the evening as they had an early shoot time the next day. Right as they were starting to pack up you burst through the door in your new kelly green tracksuit and freshly colored goldenrod yellow hair.

“There can only be one dandelion Yugyeom. And look who the real dandelion is now. ME! All hail the Monarch of the dandelion race! Bow before me and you may not be blown away!”

All seven of them were shaking and crying with laughter. “Baby,” Yugyeom wheezed. “This is why I love you. Only you would do something like this, my gorgeous monarch of the dandelions. Let’s rule together. Dandelions forever! All hail” he explained with a smile on his face, love in his heart, and laughter on his tongue.

#got7 #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #mark tuan #jackson wang #JB #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #bambam #yugyeom

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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One Constant

Summary: It's been five years without Bucky. You and Steve travel to Vormir for the Soulstone to bring him back.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

A/N: 3.5K word count. Post-Endgame. Angsty!

It’s absolutely insane the lengths Steve Rogers would go to in order to save the ones he loves. He is feeling this sentiment now as you clutch his hand in one and grip the edge of your seat with the other, warping at top speed into the depths of inky black space. Kaleidoscopic lights zoom by, and he feels dizzy just thinking about the fact that he is traveling through space.

But just a few moments ago, he had traveled through time, so space could have well been a logical next step.

If he is feeling nervous, or possibly about to vomit, he doesn’t show it.

He only grips your hand a little tighter, strokes the bone-white knuckles of your fist a little slower, leans over and kisses you a bit harder.

“We got it, baby.” He soothes, “He’ll be back soon.”

“I swear to God, Steve, if he isn’t, I will personally remove every single one of Thanos’ teeth with my bare fucking hands.”

Steve grins and brings your palm to his lips, kissing the creases. He knows you well enough to trust in your promise. Vormir lies only a half hour away as they reach their destination and descend slowly into the rusty red atmosphere.

You strap the sleek black Ka-Bar to your thigh, fingers running over the handle lovingly, as if you were touching a part of him. And in some ways, you are. It’s one small reminder the two of you have had for five years. His favorite knife. A reminder of the love lost in the snap.

For the first year, you refused to even say his name. You railed against any possible attempt to return your days to normalcy, and even frustrated Steve on nights when you’d stumble through the empty compound completely in shambles, gripping that Ka-Bar, slamming it into the wall, livid and drunk, screaming and crying.

A part of him felt a little sting of jealousy and curiosity. He wondered if you would have cared this much if it was him that had been lost.

The same part of him also felt ashamed because at the end of every episode, you would be curled up on the floor, or in the bed, or sometimes in the shared closet, hugging Bucky’s clothes, repeating the same broken phrase to his ghost.

Come back. Come back to us. Come back to us, please.

Us, not me.

Steve would wrap his arms around you, pull you close, tell you he’s got you now.

Even though he’s clean shaven and carefully coiffed, a picture-perfect representation of his moniker, even though he leads sermons at the VA about moving on and forward, he knows a part of him would never let Bucky go. You would never let him.

Steve isn’t only saving Bucky on this journey; Steve is also saving you.

“Steve.” You whisper, “Steve.” A little firmer the second time. “I love you.”

Then you’re in his lap, forgoing your own seat and squeezing him so tightly his breath gets lodged in this throat. “Don’t go, too. Promise me.”

Steve wraps his arms around you, the lover he always dreamed of having—sweeter than sugar, doe-eyed, a goddess in human form, one part of the third of his heart. You and Bucky had been so close, even in your shared relationship—he always felt a little left out. Even though it was him first. Even though Bucky came later.

The ship whirrs mindlessly forward, autopilot on, technology beyond his understanding steering itself. You shake in his arms. “Take it off.” You mutter, suddenly clawing at his suit, fingers desperate to find his buckles and zippers.

“Take it off, Steve!”

He does as he’s told, albeit confusedly, but soon enough he’s stripped down and you are shedding your clothing too, straddling his waist with frantic breaths.

“I want to fuck.”

“Sweetheart—“

“Now. Steve.”

He always lets you have what you want. Against the backdrop of inky darkness and muted far off stars, swirling planets colored in shades he doesn’t know how to name, you palm him and glide on top.

There are tears in your eyes when you lean your head on his shoulder. “I miss him.” You sob, “I miss him so much.”

“I know.” Steve kisses you deeply, rocks up into you until you shudder all over. He presses his lips to your eyes and cheeks, traces the line of salt down to your chin, and rolls deep strokes of his cock in and out until you both come.

“I love you.” You sigh against his neck, landing a chaste kiss to the lobe of his ear.

It’s been like this for five years, oscillating between tender and torn, high and low, and not much in-between. Before the snap, you had been their shy girl, lover not a fighter, even though your hands could crush granite. Pressed between them in a feverish haze, you were still soft, and they were gentle as a result.

They would always be gentle with you. Even Bucky, who had the pent-up sexual energy of an animal in rut. You would put his fingertips in your mouth, lick the pads with slow flicks of your tongue, and he would melt. Sugar, he’d croon, gorgeous girl, how’d we get so lucky?

Now, when Steve gets you into bed you put his hand to your neck and make him squeeze. You ask him to hurt you and he hates it.

You’re different. Things have changed.

The ship descends, blowing clouds of dust all around and Steve is so beyond thinking about this landscape that he doesn’t give a shit anymore about how they can even survive the atmosphere. Four boots trek on wordlessly until they reach the peak of the lonely jagged mountain.

A billowing cloak and gaunt cheeks appear.

“Schmidt.” Steve hisses, gearing back for a fight, but you put your hand up and step forward instead, that Ka-Bar already in your hand.

“Don’t fuck with me, Skeletor. You know what I want.”

He’s a self-sacrificing asshole and he almost killed you to launch himself off the cliffside. The crack of his skull echoes and is smothered by your shrieking hundreds of feet above the site of his death.

“No! You fucking promised! You fucking promised you wouldn’t fucking leave!” You howl and howl and slam your fists into the rock until it cracks and crumbles into dust.

Those will be the last words he’ll ever hear. Your throat gone raw and the venom and disappointment and hurt inside of you sputtering out wet with blood.

You launch yourself at Schmidt and pass right through his shadow.

“Superhuman or not,” his voice is a ghostly warble, “You cannot kill me. I am free now to roam and leave this planet.” The tight skin peels back to reveal his teeth.

Your head is falling apart. Both of them, gone, and even if the stone will be used to bring one back, you’ll live again with a piece of your heart missing. The tears blur everything, turning it into one giant blotch of orange. The speck of red and murky black stills and whips around, in shock.

“What-- how?”

You wipe your eyes as Schmidt peers over the edge. The planet rumbles and shakes, wailing an ear-splitting shriek and your head spins until there’s nothing left but the pounding of your brain rattling loose.

It’s wet when you wake up. Water laps over your face and for a second you forget where you are, how you ache, but when it rushes back the sea feels like tears.

There is no stone in your clutch.

But there is something else. Soft. Small. Delicate bones and skin so pale, it could be a child’s.

Steve’s right hand reaches over his torso, shrunken, now too small to fit rightly in his suit and it wrinkles and warps around him. The gangly fingers open and reveal the amber gem, shimmering against the darkness of the water and your eyes.

“You’re alive.” You rasp. “You’re here.”

“I-I’m back... t-to before...” He’s half in awe and in shock. There is a disappointment that mars his brow and tilts his mouth down deep until it looks like it could fall off his chin. His hands pat his chest, pulls the bunched Kevlar and neoprene away from him. “I--” Steve clenches his jaw.

You’ll never see him the same again. He’s different now. You’ve never known or loved this version of him. It’ll be just you and Bucky, like he’s always thought and feared. Steve’s mind flies a mile a minute, swirling in self-hatred and pain.

How could you look at him like this? Tiny, fragile, sickly thing that he’s been before. He’ll be invisible again, sinking into the backdrop, eclipsed once more by James Buchanan Barnes’ tall frame and fine figure. You’ll never--

You leap into his arms, knock him backwards with a splash. “Thank god!” You cry, dripping salt down his face, soft lips trailing all over him. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

If he wasn’t so stubborn, you’d pick him up, but instead you settle on dragging him by the wrist back to the ship where you tear off the stupid too-large suit from him, push him on the smooth floor and giggle as the engine rumbles back to life.

The jerk of the ship taking flight smashes his chest into yours. Steve burns red with embarrassment and tries to push you off, but you won’t budge.

He’s too weak now, something that turns him almost purple with shame.

“S-stop— I’m--”

“Don’t fuck with me, Rogers.” You hold his wrists down, “I still love you, no matter what you look like. I love you, you little asthmatic shit.” You kiss him and undress and he’s baffled, heart hammering in its cage- short of breath and wheezing. Your hands make quick work of him and he’s hard like a rock when your mouth goes south.

“Still the same down here, baby.”

When he comes a stuttering, blubbering, mess all over your stomach, Steve’s eyes roll so far back he thinks he needs to add blindness to his list of ailments.

Bucky’s head is wrenched backwards as soon as you find him over the hill. Among the chaos and terror of an enormous battlefield, aliens screeching, guns and blasters, and sizzling ancient magic, you leap, legs wrapped around his torso and kiss him with too much tongue.

“Shit, baby!” He laughs before ducking down, taking you with him, “Fuck! Can ya save it for later?”

You’re different. Your once-blue suit is black and your eyes are painted all the way up to your brow with soot colored shadow, reminiscent of the way he used to as Soldat. Usually, your hair is pulled back and away from your face, but now it hangs all around, whipping over your cheeks with the wind. You look fearsome.

And, God he thinks, you’re beautiful. Although you might have once been a pink and blushing rose, you’re now suddenly bleeding red and silky, overgrown with thorns, still beautiful.

Then, his head turns back and forth, “Wh-where is he?”

You smile shyly and kiss him on the cheek while readjusting the strap of his gun. For a brief second you look like the pink flower again.

“Don’t worry,” You say, “He’s okay. He’s got to sit this one out, but I told him I’d bring him back two presents.”

Bucky squints.

“Two?”

Jesus fucking Christ on a stick Bucky’s heart is going to drop right out of his ass. You are straddling Thanos’ neck with your thighs. The Titan—the semi-god or whatever he is—you are on top of him and wrenching his jaw open.

Bucky doesn’t know if he should scream or cry or faint.

Next to him, Danvers is matching his expression. “What the hell?” She breathes and he has no fucking idea. Mantis is shrieking and you are shrieking right back.

“Don’t be a pussy! Hold the motherfucker!”

Bucky could cross himself right now because their sweet girl, their angel, is digging into Thanos’ mouth with his Ka-Bar and pulling her hand back out drenched in blood.

Afterwards, you’re still sticky. The blood coats all five fingers but you skip past the ash and dust and grab his face with your hand and plant another kiss on him. Wilson shakes his head, mutters about how it used to be the other way around and a part of Bucky abruptly catches up to the truth.

You are different. You’re hard and lethal and it hurts him so much to think that he wasn’t there. The fact that he wasn’t there is all he can think about. His absence left you raw and moldable. It must have hurt so much, for their girl to transform from satin to steel.

“Come on,” You say with a grin he’s never seen before, “Let’s go get Steve.”

And then it hurts differently. The guilt starts eating him through his stomach and up his throat because Steve has been with you all this time, watching helplessly—all because Bucky got dusted. It must have killed Steve to see you crumble and rebuild into who you are now. Killed him to not be able to do a damn thing. Killed him for five years, even though Bucky is the one who died.

Back at the compound, Steve sits nervously in the shared room, chews on every inch of his mouth until the skin hangs from his lip and then he chews it off, too. It used to smell like all three of you: brisk pine and cedar with the faint drift of freesia.

A part of it still does, dusky and sweet, but salty too. Acrid, if he breathes too deeply. Stinging and dark, like bourbon.

Huh. Steve thinks, maybe he’ll have a drink. Now that he can again.

By the time you swing the door open, Steve is piss drunk and wheezing sprawled out on the floor. Bucky’s breath lodges in his throat as you stumble over to Steve’s collapsed body.

“What the fuck!” You cry, patting him down, checking his pulse.

“S-Stevie?” Bucky breathes, “Is that you, pal?”

With a shuddering breath, you turn around and show him your teeth, a wet laugh springing forward, “We— we had to go.. to Vormir. Get the damn stone back in time and— I could have died.”

Steve wheezes again, “Wouldn’t have let you.” He hiccups, fingers lazily reaching up to poke you in the nose. “Nope.”

He pops the p.

Bucky steps cautiously forward, resurrected only hours ago and has no idea what Vormir is. Nor does he care. All he sees are his lovers, transmuted entirely by their loss— by their love for him.

It’s all changed. Everything is different and terribly new. You wipe the dark streak from your eyes and wipe Steve’s face too as Bucky stands speechless. The two of you together, leaned against each other on the floor. Bucky thinks, how many nights did this happen? How long did his two lovers suffer and cry for him?

Softly, he pads forward, kneels, and takes each hand into his. “I love you. Both of you.”

Steve looks away and so do you, nostrils flaring to hold back the torrent of tears threatening to explode. “I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers, kissing your cheek and then Steve’s feeling the sharp bone of him through the face he had known so well long ago. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

The room is so still Bucky’s afraid he might be getting dusted again, back into that terrible split second where the world stops, and he knows nothing else but the speck of sand suspended in motion. Then, a snort.

“The hell’re you sorry for? S’not like you wanted to turn into dust. Or ash. What’s another—hm. Baby powder. Buck, ya got baby powder-ed.”

Even though he’s small and asthmatic again, Steven Grant Rogers is undeniably more of a little shit than ever. It doesn’t help that he’s drunk as a skunk, breath spicy warm with the heady draught of liquor.

To his right, you laugh and ruffle his hair. Steve flinches at your touch and pulls away with a scowl. You freeze and glare right back at him, grabbing his shoulder until he winces, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hiss. “He’s back. He’s right here and what the fuck, Steve?”

“Yeah.” Steve grunts, shrugging off your hand, “He’s back. So be with him. Be with him like you’ve wanted to for the last five years.”

Bucky watches the tension roil in waves, emanating from your bared teeth and Steve’s downcast eyes. He doesn’t know when to step in or how to begin to stop the train wreck unfolding in front of him. Steve is piss drunk and pissed off—haven’t had a drink probably since 1942 and is completely off his rocker. You look like you’re ready to snap his neck like a pretzel stick.

It scares Bucky.

It scares him when you dig into your pocket and pull out the tooth he watched you wrench from Thanos earlier. For whatever blessed or cursed reason, it remains as it is, enormous like a half-dollar, shining dully and crusted with Titan blood.

“Here’s this, asshole.” The tooth bounces off Steve’s sternum with a dull thud, landing in his lap. Then you take Bucky’s old Ka-Bar and throw it at Steve, too. “And here’s this, you self-flagellating shithead.”

Bucky winces at your words. He’s never heard them before. Ever. Tears well up in your eyes.

“If you hadn’t come back on that dusty ass planet, I would have thrown myself off too. Fuck the stone. Fuck Earth and Vormir and fuck everyone else, too. I would have died with you.” A choked sob escapes as you glare into the side of Steve’s face, suddenly pinched with embarrassment, “You’re an idiot.”

Bucky sighs in relief when Steve looks up and leans forward onto your shoulder, resting his golden head against you. “Sorry, baby.” He mutters, “I just—I hate… this. I’m not… Captain America anymore. I’m just… Steve.”

Bucky starts to laugh, despite the moment. He laughs and leans back until he slips off his knee and foot and falls back on his bottom. You and Steve turn, bewildered at the sound of him, slight smirks on both of your faces because regardless of it all, Bucky is alive, and he is happy.

“Captain America was an asshole.” Bucky exhales, mirth in his eyes, “Tightwad. Stick so far up there he was chokin’ on it.”

Steve sputters an indignant response.

“I like you much better.” Bucky says, leaning forward and placing his hand on Steve’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss onto his swollen red lips. “This guy… dumb Brooklyn kid who didn’t know when to give up.”

“That’s not the quote goes.” Steve hiccups, drawing from an old memory. His head hangs low, embarrassed at himself, leaning into the warmth of Bucky’s palm.

“Well, I wasn’t there in the forties, but I like this new quote just fine.” You grin, reaching forward to smooth Steve’s disheveled hair back. “You done?”

He nods, reaches out and takes your hand and you return his gesture with a light squeeze.

Bucky grins at his two lovers, sitting cross-legged on the floor. One, who used to be soft, hardened like diamonds, and one, reverted completely... but to Bucky, Steve hasn’t changed at all. He was telling the truth when he said this version of Steve was his favorite.

Five years and the changes have stripped all he’s known away—the transformation of the lives around him makes Bucky sigh with uneasiness. He can’t help it. He feels like he’s always in a state of falling asleep and waking up to an entirely new world.

Steve kisses your mouth, kisses Bucky too. The three of you share quiet gazes at one another before you begin to unhook your vest and look at him behind long lashes. Your hands work nimbly, just like he remembers. Steve strokes your arm, guides Bucky forward to help you with your clothes. That’s familiar too.

Bucky smiles and presses his lips to the apples of your cheeks. Still soft.

“Did you miss us?” Steve asks, steering him further, “Buck?”

“Yeah. I did.”

You moan faintly into his mouth, strip down until you’re naked and then move to help Steve, too. Bucky watches in awe of those deft movement, swallowing when both bodies are revealed to him in the lamplight glow of the bedroom.

When he sheds his clothes to match, he can’t help but smile at the two faces contemplating back at him.

Maybe some things are different now, Bucky thinks. But the love is still the same.

You and Steve run your hands all over his body, kiss him everywhere your lips can touch. Bucky blooms all over with heat and electricity. He melts into twenty fingers and two hot mouths.

Yeah. The love is still the same. And it is so goddamn good.

taglist: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216

#stucky #marvel #mcu #stucky x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #avengers endgame #fanfiction #reader insert

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inactiive-shit · 5 years ago

Text

Masquerade

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: costume party

Warnings: Deceit, Remus, some Remus-regular dialogue

Pairing: Romantic Anxceitmus, background romantic Moralogince

Words: 3,417

@sanderssidescelebrations I had to interpret this pretty liberally to get an idea for the prompt. So instead of a costume party, we have a masquerade! I hope this is still enough in the guidelines to fit! Here ya go!

Dee pulls the shining gold half-face mask on and grins at himself in the mirror. His sleek black suit, shining yellow cape, and slicked back black hair cut a sharp figure. It isn’t an ornate outfit, but it does imply a certain modicum of respect and prestige. It will certainly catch his beau’s eye, which is Dee’s main goal tonight. That, and beating Remus.

Remus stands across the room, making faces at himself in the mirror. He had designed the ugliest outfit Dee had ever seen for this event - all green, with a green paisley print on the green jacket and green polka dots on his green skirt and green stripes on his tie and even green shoes. The whole thing is only something Remus could have come up with, and there will be no doubt at the masquerade ball that he is Prince Remus.

“Darling,” Dee says, “have you considered something a bit less, I don’t know, obvious?”

“No,” Remus responds. “Why would I? I want Virgil to know exactly who it is that’s after his attentions.”

“And there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind of that,” Dee says dryly. Remus grins wildly and slid on his (you guessed it) green mask. That, at least, is not such an awful shade, though it doesn’t mean much when paired with rest of the monstrosity Remus claims is an outfit.

“So, how are you planning to attract our lovely little mate?” Remus asks, running lipstick (green) over his mouth.

“Trying to cheat already, are we?” Dee asks, and he smiles slightly at the pout that contorts Remus’s face behind the mask. “That’s quite alright; you do need the pointers.”

“Well, then why don’t you come over here and teach me?” Remus quips. Dee is tempted to stalk across the room, pin Remus’s hips to the counter behind him and wipe that smirk right off his face, but he knows that it would both ruin his presentability and make them both late to the ball. So instead, Dee winks.

“I certainly will teach you. Tonight, when you’re begging to know how I got our little Stormcloud and you didn’t.”

“You talk big game for such a short person,” Remus says. Dee bares his teeth while Remus laughs.

“I’m going to make you pay for that one,” he says. Remus just keeps laughing, so Dee spins on a heel and strides out. He’ll rub it in his boyfriend’s face when he is the one who wins their little tailor’s heart. (It had started as simple infatuation, a desire to be with the pretty man who always so readily fixed up Prince Remus’s torn clothing. But then it grew, and they realized he was actually smart and sarcastic enough to combat Dee and easily able to handle all of Remus, and...now it was something much greater than mere infatuation. That is why they’ve been courting him for one year, in secret at his own request. But this ball? This would be their official announcement. Not that anyone except the three of them knew that yet.)

Dee lets the petty look on his face melt away, and then he smirks as suavely as he can. He’s walking down the hallway alone and has nothing to be smirking about, yes, but it pays to be prepared and Dee will not let this opportunity to woo such an amazing man get away from him. He will get his first official kiss from Virgil Tailor before Remus.

Which is not to say it will be their first kiss. They’ve done plenty of things aside from kiss.

“Prince Consort,” says one guard standing in front of the ballroom doors. “Good evening. Are you looking for Prince Remus?”

“Good evening,” Dee sighs, “and no. I just left him in his rooms. We are attending the ball separately.” Dee watches the guards’ faces carefully. His wording will make it seem like he and Remus are having problems. It will give Remus’s brother, reigning monarch King Roman Arvanitis, an absolute heart attack, which is something that both Dee and Remus can find delight in. (And after tonight, if all goes well, maybe Virgil too.)

“Right, of course,” says the guard, bowing his head. “My apologies for any troubles you may be having. Do you wish to go into the ball now, uh?”

Dee forces himself to hold back a laugh. They never have known how to address him. “Indeed. If you would.” He gestures at the doors, and the guards scramble to open them for him. He smirks as he passes.

“Enjoy your evening, Prince Consort,” fumbles another guard.

“And you yours,” Dee says. He walks through the doors and is standing atop the platform reserved for only the most distinguished members of the kingdom. There is a sprawling staircase that leads down to the floor, and everyone watches as Dee descends them smoothly. They clap politely once his feet are on the floor, and seconds later they are all back to their conversations and sipping from their flutes.

Dee finds the striking purple outfit just from a few seconds of looking. He stands out so stunningly from the boorish crowd. Most guests went for bright and glittering and colors, sending sparks of light dancing as they move. But not the tailor who wears a deep purple vest and lilac shirt underneath. His pants are either black or midnight blue, but at this distance with the chandeliers so high above them, Dee can’t tell which. His jacket is midnight blue, but it has red stitching and the kingdom’s sigil done in red in honor of the king.

But the most impressive thing about the outfit is mask he is sporting. It is a dragon mask done in shades of green and yellow. A dragon mask alone would have been bold, would have garnered looks (if you wore dragons, it was for strength and courage and because you believed you could be equal to those legendary beasts, gone for a century). And to do it in green and yellow, the colors of the Prince and Prince Consort, well...it was bold, certainly. Some might call it arrogant. Remus would call it attractive.

Dee considers it an invitation.

Dee watches Virgil Tailor for a moment longer and then heads for a drink. He sips it slowly, politely ignoring anyone who tries to talk to him, and lets his eyes bounce from the gorgeous man making small talk with someone he has likely never met and then to the platform that Remus will enter from. Remus will accuse him of cheating if he approaches Virgil before he has even entered the room. So Dee will wait, and then Dee will make his move.

Dee has about as much enthusiasm for waiting games as Remus. Meaning, he’ll give him thirty more seconds to show his face.

When Remus does appear on the dais, the room goes appropriately silent. Dee thinks it’s likely from the cresting horror as his outfits registers with them. The applause starts slowly as Remus walks down the staircase, and Dee is once again forced to smother his laughter at the looks on the audience’s faces. Across the room, Dee can see Virgil doing the same.

Dee beelines for Virgil the second Remus is on the floor. He can feel the curious gazes following him, undoubtedly wondering why he’s heading away from his husband and the Prince instead of toward him for their first dance of the night. The polite thing to do, and the correct procedure for an event, is to dance first with your known romantic entanglements and then with other high ranking nobles who might borrow you for a dance.

Luckily, Dee, Remus, and Virgil can all agree on at least one thing: procedure? Boring.

Dee bows in front of Virgil and offers him a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Virgil takes his hand. “Of course, Prince Consort” he murmurs, every bit the shy, demure person other believed him to be. “I would be delighted.”

Dee swings them into the dancing in a waltz, and they blend seamlessly into the crowd of other spinning couples. Well, perhaps not seamlessly. They are two of the three people who are not wearing some sort of brightly colored, reflecting materials, and Dee is as close to royalty as one can be. There is a certain space made around them that draws attention from everyone.

“You look ravishing, as always,” Dee says. Virgil is taller than him by three inches, taller than Remus by one. He has to look up to speak to him so closely, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

Virgil blushes slightly, something that Dee still delights in even after so much time together. He has never met another person who can be embarrassed into blushing with just a nice word so regularly. “I would say the same to you, but that would feel like giving myself a compliment,” Virgil mutters in his ear. The laugh that escapes Dee is entirely unexpected and genuine and just loud enough that the couples dancing near them look harder.

Everyone is wondering who Dee Salvi, Prince Consort, could have abandoned the Prince of the kingdom to dance with. No one at the ball would likely recognize him, even if Virgil forewent a disguise entirely. Most nobles don’t pay much attention to the people who are below them. Dee basks in their ignorance in a snake sunbathing.

“A compliment well earned,” Dee says. “Though I suppose you probably made half the costumes in this room.”

“Something like that,” Virgil says, and his accent slips into those words just enough to make them lilt. This language is not the common tongue, and it’s not his native language. It’s what the nobles and royals speak. Virgil had admitted that he had only learned it to get better jobs from people that would pay more. Sometimes, in some phrases or when he gets excited, the accent from the commoner language buoys his words. Dee always thought the commoner language was much more musical than the other, always found it soothing even before he started learning it.

The music begins to slow, and Dee gives Virgil a hopeful look. Virgil laughs and shakes his head. “You have to at least give Remus a chance,” he chides quietly. “Now either go dance with your husband or find somewhere else to be. It would be improper of you to stay with me for a second dance.”

“Fuck proper,” Dee mutters, but he obligingly releases Virgil’s hands - after kissing the back of one and smiling at the disapproving clucks coming from all the nearby couples. He is the Prince Consort, and he is bold enough to openly flirt with a man who is not his Prince. How strange. How rude. How arrogant. How...fitting.

Most people don’t really like the Prince Consort because he looks like he’d be an ass. Dee knows. Dee doesn’t care. He’s a pain in Remus’s ass and Virgil’s ass (not that anyone knows that yet), and that’s what’s important.

Dee picks up a glass of water and takes a sip. He tries not to smirk at those openly staring at him like a runaway circus animal. He won’t do tricks for their amusement, only his own.

It definitely does tickle him when Remus sweeps up to his side and guests either ogle them, look hastily away, or both one after the other. Remus leans in close to him and whispers, “The guards gave me their condolences on losing such a nice man. And then my brother berated me for doing something to scare you off. Dee, you should have told me you were leaving me!” Dee snorted.

“I thought you might enjoy that,” he says. Remus smiles.

“You do know me so well,” Remus sighs. “It is a true shame, then, that I must be off. I hear a tailor calling my name, desiring to dance.” Remus whisks himself away in a flurry of greens, and Dee smiles fondly after him.

Then, Dee makes his way to the wall of the ballroom and and finds an empty standing table. He leans against it to watch his beloveds be so cavalier in their dancing. Remus could dance far better than he is, but instead he leads them around the floor in a senseless, rhythmless pattern that only serves to frustrate other couples and attract the attention of anyone who wants to gossip. Meaning, everyone.

Dee lets his eyes flit to the gracious King Roman, who threw this ball at his brother’s request and even allowed Remus and Dee to handle most of the guest list (it is the only way they could get Virgil an invitation without letting Roman know directly). He had even been so kind as to not ask what the ball was for, only make Remus promise not to do anything that would get them in trouble. They had both sworn it. And they hadn’t been lying. They weren’t doing it for trouble, they were doing for love (and spectacle, but that was a given.)

Roman was watching his brother, looking very obviously concerned. Beside him was Prince Consort Patton Hart, cooing something to him. His eyes were also locked on Remus and the nonsense dance he was performing. On the king’s other side and slightly back stood the royal advisor, Logan Cato. Unknown to everyone but the guards and royal family, Logan was actually the other Prince Consort. He, too, was watching Remus though his was more a look of alarm than anything else. He leaned forward to say something to Roman. Dee goes back to watching Remus swing Virgil around the floor like an over-excited puppy.

As the song ends, Remus also kisses the back of Virgil’s hand and takes his leave. Dee watches Virgil float through the crowd, not staying put long enough to get pulled into another conversation. Remus stops at the table Dee has claimed.

“I suppose the next dance is ours,” Dee says.

“No,” Remus says. “You should go dance with Virgil. We had this whole ball for him, it wouldn’t do to leave him out there alone when he so obviously doesn’t know how to make the kind of small talk this rank of person prefers.” The look on Remus’s face is sympathetic. He doesn’t really understand this brand of small talk either.

“As you wish, my Prince,” Dee purrs. He kisses the back of Remus’s hand. “Before I go, Roman was watching you dance. They’re worried.”

“They’re paying attention,” Remus corrects with a smirk. “And attention is exactly what we want.” Dee smiles too and turns around to scan the room for Virgil. He’s closer than expected, only a half dozen tables away, chatting with a server. He probably knows every person working this event. Dee wonders if the people employed for these things always know what’s going on before anyone else. It’s easy to forget just how much they bare witness to.

“Hello, dear,” Dee says. He doesn’t bow this time. He just extends his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?” From the sly smirk on the server’s face, Dee guesses he was already well aware of their standing. Virgil still blushes.

“I would love to,” he says. Dee leads them to the dance floor. This song is quicker than the ones they’ve already been dancing too. Dee and Virgil are forced to improvise twirls and dips and everything else to keep up with the crowd. When Virgil starts laughing, Dee can’t keep the smile off his face either. They are both near to collapsing when the song begins to end.

“Dee,” Virgil says, “would you like to make a scene with me?”

“Dear, I would love nothing more,” Dee says and as the final note rises into the air Dee and Virgil lean into each other for the kiss everyone’s been unknowingly waiting for all evening.

Scandalized gasps rip through the air. Dee pulls back and Remus is standing by his side. The stares turn expectant. They think that Remus will dispense some punishment for his unfaithful consort, likely.

“Is it my turn now?” Remus whines. His eyes are shining brightly as Virgil leans down to kiss him next. The round of gasps that echoes around the room this time is even louder. When they pull apart, Remus pulls Dee into a kiss just to seal the deal. There is a third round of gasps, going rather overboard if you ask Dee, and then Remus smiles, waves at the audience and pulls them both out of the ballroom.

They all three are laughing as they stumble out and collapse a few hallways over. Dee is snorting in the most inelegant way he ever has, and it’s spurring both his partners on. Virgil’s face is bright red and he’s trying to hide it in Remus’s shoulder, but Remus keeps pulling away to pepper little kisses all over Virgil’s face. All three of their masks are discarded on the floor.

When Dee sees King Roman walking down the hall toward them, flanked by his two consorts (and his personal guard, though they are far enough away that they won’t hear anything said) he smacks at Remus and Virgil and they scramble up to face him.

“Hey, Roman!” cries Remus, wrapping one arm around Virgil’s waist. “What brings you here?”

“What brings me-? Really, Remus? You know damn well why I’m here,” snaps their king. Despite being his brother, Roman is still king. What he says, goes.

“Oh! Should I guess? Is it because you still have butt worms? Or-”

“Remus!” Roman shouts, cutting him off. “That’s disgusting! Shut up!” He waves his hand, and Patton takes his other hand. Roman sighs. “You could have warned me if you were planning on doing something like that.”

“You would have told me not to!” Remus protests.

“Yes, because-”

“Excuse me?” Virgil says, cutting off Roman. Dee resists the urge to whistle. It’s a ballsy move, but everything about tonight was so it makes sense to keep the ball rolling. “Your Majesty, Prince Consorts.” Virgil bows his head. “It is, uh, nice to meet you. Uhm, formally.” He smiles nervously. It is the least accented Dee has ever heard him talk. He wants nothing more than to reach out and take Virgil’s hand. He’s too far, though, so Dee leans as close as he can to Remus instead.

“What’s your name?” Roman asks. Remus bristles at the tone, but Virgil clears his throat, takes a step forward to stand on his own, and meets the King’s eyes.

“I am Virgil Tailor,” he says. Patton’s eyes widen, but Dee shakes his head slightly. Princes aren’t meant to dally with commoners, but this isn’t a dalliance and if Patton says anything that makes Virgil question his place, there will be a problem.

“Well, Virgil Tailor, it is a true pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone who can keep Remus in check. Is this something you can do?” Virgil nods hesitantly. Roman smiles. “Then your company will be a balm to my brother’s brash instincts. It is my pleasure to greet you, formally, and I hope to get to know you more in the future.” Virgil bows his head again, smile realer.

“You also,” he says.

“For now, though, I must be off.” Roman sends Remus the stink eye. “I am going to have to go deal with the legal ramifications of what just went on. For once in your life, Remus, could you please think ahead?”

“I did! And I thought you’d stop me! So I didn’t say anything.” Roman groans. Remus cackles and pulls Virgil and Dee both back into his embrace.

“Lay low for a couple days while we see what the backlash is,” Roman sighs. He eyes Dee. “I expected more from you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Dee says. Roman sticks his tongue out and then walks away with his two consorts in tow. Remus giggles delightedly and they head off for his and Dee’s rooms. Tonight, they will all sleep in the same bed and Virgil won’t have to disappear himself before the cleaner comes in. In the morning, they will be able to sleep as late as they want. And maybe after that they meet with Remus’s brother to see how their stunt was received. Until then, though, Dee is going to take it easy and relax with his partners. A ball really does take it out of you.

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ruffled-serpent · 4 years ago

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Lair Review for ShadowKitty

@shadowkitty-fr-art

Alright SK sorry for the wait, but you’re finally up next~

224! That’s a lot of colorful and beautiful dragons! Glancing through your lair makes me feel like I’m looking at “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” by Georges Seurat.

Forest Lily

Nature themed dragons are my JAM so of course I’m going to single out the cool leafy dudes. Forest Lily is so unique-- I really like how you took the splash of color from the Opal tertiary and used it as an opportunity to bring in even more color (the blues and purples of the flowerfalls). Nature IS colorful, it’s not always about just being green, and I adore how you’ve represented that here with Forest Lily.

Ashe

Ashe is a solid take on some old fashioned apparel. I really like how you used the reds of this armor to pair nicely with the dark reds of his primary. The etching on the armor, and the highlights go so well with the whites of his wings and pearl.Pairing him with the cinder nymph to really bring out the greys of the armor was an excellent choice. He’s got such a regal and heroic vibe.

Eren

Oh Eren’s colors took my breath away. He almost looks like the planet Earth with all the greens and blues, and little “cloud” of the grimplate. What I really like about Eren is how the different shades of blue come together so nicely. Even the more cyan hued blues in mantis find a home in his overall palette. What a magnificent looking dragon, I could stare all day if I wanted.

Sol

Everything about Sol makes him a great light rep. The gradient from Gold to Sunshine to Carrot is so satisfying to look at. The oranges allow the apparel to stand out more, given that they’re much lighter, and I think you did an excellent job with choosing the perfect dragon to wear this Light themed apparel. He doesn’t seem too busy, but it’s still entertaining to the eyes to admire the details of his outfit. Pairing him up with the Shining Cancer familiar goes really well with the raiments he is wearing. Phenomenal job here

Amethyst

I see that Amethyst is in your projects tabs, but I do want to comment on how well you’ve dressed her. She makes for an excellent witchy arcane rep. The flowers from the crown and veil have given the outfit a nice crystal forest vibe, and I particularly enjoy how you married the birdskull feathers with the orchid feathered wings. She looks stunning, and I can’t wait to see her when she’s complete!

Viridi

Not only is the skin you chose for this dragon just absolutely beautiful, but to pair this skin with the dragon’s fire eyes is just galaxy brain energy. It’s SUCH a subtle detail on a dragon that is ‘just wearing a skin’ but it’s BRILLIANT. Plus you get such an intricate looking dragon without the pain of trying to layer apparel and find exact colors. I applaud your work with Viridi

Pyra

All of your spiral flight reps are just so well done and Pyra is no different. I’m blown away at how her reds and oranges with the crystal/facet combination looks so much like actual flames here. Speaking of noodles, pairing her with the new burning virgo familiar is just too much of a fabulous coincidence. Her marigold color goes well with the molten lava in the tubes along her back in the crucible apparel. Overall the colors blend so nicely together without washing anything out on Pyra. Well done

Lucien

Lucien is SUCH a stunning dragon. I mean the use of the bewitching ruby set on this dragon gives him such a devilish and attractive look! But you went a step further by giving him that gorgeous accent. He looks like a royal keeper of flames and like he may have an intimidating charm to him. I mean woof, I think I’m going to need a drink of water before I move onto the next dragon...

Spinach

I love everything about the colors spinach has, but we all know by now that I’m a huge sucker for blue and green. But I also want to point out at how well his eyes match the underbelly and birdskull apparel. I also chose him to be on this list because of his very interesting bio. I love how you’ve given him some fun lore and personality, and I can easily imagine the green birdskull feathers as spinach he carts around trying to get his friends to eat.

Noxie

Noxie here makes an amazing witch. Her smoke gene looks as though she’s peering over a smoking cauldron, and I looove the halloween themed colors she has. The riot of rot apparel really work to bring out those spooky vibes that Noxie is so obviously about. It feels as though she’s got something up her sleeves, and I’m not sure I’d want to test my fate around her. She’s so fun to look at and her personality really shines through with the outfit you’ve given her.

Thank you for letting me review your lair, ShadowKitty, you have such a unique and intricate style when it comes to dragons and that is something to be proud of. Great job in constructing your lair!

#lair review #ShadowKitty9

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sonipanda · 5 years ago

Text

Oh Gio how I missed you! I do love this brand, because they just ooze this luxury feel and they make me feel great. I love the whole vintage look and feel they bring no matter what you pair them up with.

I got mine gifted from a beautiful friend of mine, along with a batch of others that I need to plod through 🙂

If you haven’t seen my previous reviews, you can hit the links below (opens in a new tab):

Gio RHT Stockings (Full Contrast) Perfects

Gio Classic Fully Fashioned Stockings

Gio Vintage Stockings – Baby Blue

…or you can just search for the collection on my homepage

The Spec

Colour: Plum

Size: Small

Denier: 15

Materials: 100% Nylon

Price: £11.99

Website: UKTights – Gio RHT Stockings

My Outfit

I did want to wear a more swishy dress with these stockings, but as I was feeling the purple I switched it to this piece instead and added a dark purple lip and some stone coloured heels to finish off the look.

My Deets

Dress: H&M

Lippy: Mac – Burnt Violet

Stockings: Gio

Heels: Aldo

The Review

From The Website: Gio make some of the most authentic and high quality items of legwear in the world, and they are one of the few designers left still making items in England. Now they are expanding their range with even more gorgeous items, namely this RHT stocking, one of their sturdiest and most gorgeous items yet. It is a realistic and authentic recreation of the most classic kind of stocking, and it features the best leap forward in legwear technology too, the RHT. The toes and heel are both reinforced here to create a strong and sturdy item of legwear, one that won’t get ladders or holes around the most wear and tear areas. These are some of Gio’s most sturdy and robust stockings and we absolutely love them.

* 15 denier * Reinforced heel * Reinforced toes * Seamless design * 100% Nylon

The Packaging: so if you haven’t come across Gio packaging, this is the treat you are in for. The front shows the model wearing a pair, and you can see the colour through the window at the top. The back only goes into slight detail really.

When you get in, you will find these horizontally folded so you get the foot and leg shaping to the hosiery, which is wrapped around card and tissue paper.

Getting Them On: I popped on my hosiery gloves and rolled them up the legs slowly. I took care going over my anklets, and then up the legs from there.

On The Legs: let me start off with the colour as I am dying over it. I love how gorgeous they look on the legs! These can shade slightly differently depending on the lighting, but as I had a bright sunny day today, these were nice and light on the legs.

The quality of these are always great in my eyes, but I found that I snagged these quite a fair bit (more than usual) which I wasn’t too happy about. Luckily they stayed as snags and didn’t develop into anything bigger otherwise I would have been crying!

The fit of these are a little big for me, but I loved them anyways. I would have opted for XS, but I feel they would have sat a lot lower on the legs and I wouldn’t have had a lot of room to move in them. With these, I felt they were great on the legs, I had plenty of room to move and I had the vintage wrinkle touch to them as well around the knees and ankles.

The feel of them are stunning; they are so silky smooth and feel amazing against the skin. As they are 100% nylon, you get that gorgeous feel to them.

The Toes & Ankle: I love a good RHT pair (reinforced toe and heel for those who don’t know) as they look amazing, especially when they’re a darker denier and become a focal piece. These have caps on both toes and heels which cover the designated areas well. The toes have plenty of wiggle room and no pressure is added during the day.

Around the feet and ankles, it can become slightly loose looking if you went one size up (like I did) but I didn’t mind as it wasn’t too drastic. I liked the whole vintage look they had where it encases the legs and has a bit of gapping. I used to despise it before, but now I’ve grown to love it.

The Bands: oh these bands are just gorgeous. I have to say they are only very slightly loose on my thighs, but I really don’t mind as long as I have a good suspender belt on with them. These sat gently on the thighs and were sitting pretty high up instead of mid-thigh.

These have no stretch in them at all, so I would advise that you get the closest size possible or go one up if you’re unsure as these do stretch out but don’t tighten back up once you’ve been in them.

My Thoughts?

I loved my pair and I would certainly recommend them for sure. The colour is gorgeous, the fit with the wrinkles was right up my street and overall they were a great pair to create statement pieces in.

Gio RHT Stockings Oh Gio how I missed you! I do love this brand, because they just ooze this luxury feel and they make me feel great.

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queenbirbs · 6 years ago

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waiting game | Ethan Ramsey x MC

AN - Literally couldn’t get this oneshot out of my head last night, so therefore I spent most of my last day off before Easter Hell Week writing it out. Because of course, why not? WC 3701 There’s a special place in hell for Harper Emery.

It’s the fourth time the phrase has entered his head, but it hasn’t lost the fire behind it. He’s the leader of one of the country’s best diagnostics teams, he’s done a few tours with Doctors Without Borders. Last year, he even went back home for Christmas dinner with a family who would honestly rather receive more postcards from Mozambique in lieu of seeing him in person.

And yet, this is possibly the most stressful thing Ethan’s ever dealt with. Wading through feces and garbage in a rural country would be more preferable at this point.

The event room around him is gilded to the tee. Every table is draped in the finest cloth, the silverware sparkling in the light of the chandeliers, the plates filled with the highest quality catering. Extravagant centerpieces explode from the center of the tables, white orchids and white hydrangeas and white lilies spilling out from crystal vases. Some type of curly branch winds up toward the ceiling, breaking up the overwhelming glare of white.

In the beginning, he tried to position himself just so, hoping the floral arrangement would hide him. Sitting down only served to make him an easy target, though, where any of the sharks could circle his table and feast upon him at will.

Glancing down at the scotch in his hand, he wonders how many more metaphors he can make before he has to cut himself off.

His current strategy is to keep moving, keeping himself between them with large, immovable objects. He learned his lesson with George Kadinskee, who shoved a table and chairs out of the way to get to him. It’s like being in a furniture store or a car dealership, watching the sales people discreetly chase after him.

It’s all rather pathetic (and childish) of him, but he didn’t become a doctor to get hounded by insurance reps. And yet, here he was at a Banner Health function on a Friday evening, dressed in one of his finest suits, waiting for the earth to swallow him up.

He really just wants to go home to his dog and a documentary.

“Doctor Ramsey!” a voice calls from behind him.

Allotting himself a wince and a sip of his drink in preparation, he sucks in a breath and straightens his spine. It’s a good thing, too, because when he turns around he needs to cling to all the composure he can.

“Rookie,” he greets, taking another sip to wet his dry mouth, “what are you doing here?”

Sloane raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Doctor Emery invited me. She said that the hospital could use some... younger representation.”

It’s his turn to shoot her a look.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I think the polite term is ‘experienced’ now,” she responds with that low, pretty laugh of hers.

He doesn’t choke on his drink, but it’s a damn near thing. “I’m sorry I’m late, though,” she continues, saving him from responding, “I had to get cleaned up and get all…” she trails off, waving a hand over her ensemble. “And my post-op was having some complications. I wanted to stick around until he got settled.”

Clinging to the life-raft of shop talk she’s handed him, he asks her about the patient, relieved when he catches the glint in her eyes, that bright flicker of discussing something she loves. Hospital talk saves him from making the inevitable ‘you look nice’ comment, which would be a paltry choice of words. She looks absolutely gorgeous, wearing a royal purple gown with a deep vee neckline. The material looks soft to the touch, the rich color complementing the russet shade of her hair. She normally wears it up, but it’s nice to see it down. His eyes follow the soft curls to the waist of her dress, where a section of thin lace does little to cover her pale skin, before the rest of the skirt continues down.

“You should go get us another round.” At her stilted tone, he glances at the half-finished glasses they both hold.

“Why?” he drags the word out, blaming the alcohol for how playful it sounds.

“Because there’s a middle-aged man that’s been eyeing you across the room for the past two minutes.”

He’s definitely blaming the next sentence out of his mouth on the alcohol.

“Are you sure he isn’t eyeing you?”

Something akin to delight crosses her face, before she breaks into a chuckle and shakes her head.

“Oh, no, trust me. He’s definitely been admiring your backside this entire time, not mine.”

Ethan pointedly keeps his eyes up, because he’s a grown adult, and shouldn’t be tempted with the idea of admiring hers. (He’s done so before, but only from the comfort of the nurses’ station, and only when she’s distracted enough not to catch him. He is a grown adult, after all.)

“Does he look like he plays golf instead of attending mandatory meetings?”

“Oh, yeah,” she nods, her gaze narrowing just beyond his left shoulder. “And his idea of a good time is yelling at wait staff.”

He chuckles at the matter-of-fact tone.

“You can tell that from across the room?”

“I waited tables in the Upper East Side in college. A sizable chunk of my debt is from buying new white button-downs when people like him threw food at me. I can read people like him a mile away.” Her eyes widen when she adds in a rush, “And he’s headed this way. Here!”

He takes the glass she all but shoves at him, steps around her, and tucks himself into the crowd hovering around the bar. Chancing a glance back, he sees her intercept George with an enthusiastic handshake. He watches as she lets herself be pulled out to sea into the awaiting sharks.

The bar takes longer than anticipated, but Ethan manages to secure two fresh drinks (and seven new business cards, which he will promptly throw in the recycling bin when he gets home). Fifteen minutes is a long time in the world of work functions, though, and he has lost sight of Sloane by the time he makes it back to the dining area. Across the ballroom, a live band has replaced the jazz playlist, and couples are moving across the dance floor.

Scanning the crowd, he finally spots a flash of purple, then a curtain of red flickering between bodies. She’s dancing with Anthony Fenton, Banner’s HR assistant and owner of three Teslas, which Ethan only knows because Anthony told him four times within their twenty-minute conversation earlier.

The song that’s playing crescendos, then eases down, the couples slowing as it peters out to a calmer song. Anthony’s hand moves from her waist to the small of her back, gathering her close to sway with her. Sloane settles a hand onto his chest, pushing back to make some space between their bodies.

It’s funny, because Ethan doesn’t see the venue change the lighting, but everything goes red for a moment.

He moves closer to the dance floor, trying not to feel like a chaperone at a school dance. Sloane is an adult, and a smart one at that, and is capable of making her own decisions. So, if she wants to dance with annoying assistants, or flirt with visiting paramedics or the other diagnostic interns, then she’s perfectly free to do so.

It doesn’t matter to him at all. (It does.)

He’s glad he’s watching them, though, because he gets to see the moment Sloane notices him. It’s been a few months since she started at Edenbrook, but it still gives him that same little thrill, that bite of pleasure, when she comes across him in the hallway, or in the cafeteria, or at Donahue’s, and he gets to watch her face light up.

“S.O.S.!” she mouths, begging for a save.

After she rescued him from George, he can’t just leave her to fend for herself, right?

Setting the drinks down on a nearby table, Ethan moves through the dancers with ease and sidles up to tap Sloane on the shoulder.

“May I have this dance, Doctor McTavish?”

She unwraps herself from Anthony and takes his offered hand within the span of one beat. Ethan thinks he mutters a dismissal to Anthony, but isn’t entirely sure about it.

Because he clearly didn’t think this part through. Enjoying Sloane from a permitted distance was one thing, but having her in his arms is a whole different ball game. He wonders if she can feel his heightened pulse where her hand grips his. (She can’t -- her fingers aren’t on his pulse point, but the curve of her lips says otherwise.)

They move in tandem with the crowd, more swaying than actual dancing. The music is just low enough for murmured conversation, which Sloane starts up with a suggestion of turning his people-watching skills on the dancers around them.

He points out the divorcees, the slackers, the ones that should be promoted and the ones that should be demoted. They bicker about an older couple near the very edge (she thinks they’re married, he thinks they’re just business partners). The current song slows and the two men in question share a gentle kiss, the shorter nuzzling the taller’s chest.

He runs out of observations soon after, too caught up in his private thoughts about the woman in his arms to spin any more yarn.

“Wouldn’t you normally bring a date to a function like this?” she asks, honest curiosity in her voice.

He deploys his best weapon: deflection.

“Couldn’t I ask the same of you?”

She hums, tipping her head to the side as if in agreement. The action sends a cascade of curls to lay against her neck, that floral perfume of hers hitting him again.

“To be fair, I did ask someone, but he works fourth shift tonight and couldn’t make it.”

His brain doesn’t know how to handle that information; he gets a wave of disappointment that she tried to bring a date, then gets another wave of admonishment at himself for wanting her all to himself.

“You wouldn’t want to put anyone through this schmooze-fest, anyway,” he reasons.

“You’re right,” she says. “In the twenty minutes you were hiding at the bar, I was offered to go on three company cruises and seven golf trips. And I’m pretty sure one of those was a combination of the two.”

Ethan makes a face at the idea of a golf-cruise combo.

“I was not hiding. They only have two bartenders working for a full venue.”

“Your mouth is moving, but all I’m hearing are excuses, Ramsey,” she chides with a grin.

The tempo of the song they’re dancing to swells. Neither say anything, but both seem to know exactly what to do. He drops his hand from her waist and twirls her out, her dress floating out into the open space with her, before she comes back into his arms, holding tight to his hand.

There’s a callous on her right ring finger, resting just below the nail, from the way she holds her pen at work. The perfume he detected before drifts up to him, stronger now that her body has heated up. He spots the flush that blooms across her chest and neck, a result of the swing music the band has started up.

He does not consider what it would be like to lay his lips there at the base of her throat and have a taste of her, to see if that pretty flush of hers would follow the trail of his lips.

“Let’s get some air,” he suggests, once the song is over and Sloane is panting from exertion and he is not thinking about other ways she could become breathless in his presence.

More dancers have joined the floor since they did, making their path out difficult. Ethan puts a hand on the small of her back, keeping her close to his side as they maneuver their way out of the crowd. Her skin is pleasantly warm under his fingers and covered in a light sheen of sweat from their activities and the close quarters of the dance floor.

She heads for the open balcony across the way and he follows, a moth drawn to her flame.

Outside, the city stretches out before them. To the south, Back Bay is a faint glow, leading the eye to continue left, where downtown shines bright. Cars are small dots of light underneath them, moving right and left, heading in and out of the city. Just on the edge of the balcony, Longfellow Bridge casts out into the darkness of the river. Despite the heat of the day, the cool night air rushes up to meet them.

Ethan catches Sloane rubbing her arms to keep herself warm and gives her his suit jacket to combat the cold. She tries to protest, but he silences her with another look, and helps her slip into it.

“My dad used to be the handyman for the local hospital where I grew up,” she tells him as she moves to stand at the edge. “During Christmas, they’d put these trees on top of the roofs, and he’d take me and my brother up there every year. It was only five stories high, but to us, it might as well have been the Empire State Building.”

“That sounds nice.”

She tears her gaze from the view over to him. He resists the urge to straighten his shoulders, suddenly feeling as if he’s been appraised.

“It was.” She seems to shift, as if deciding something unknown, and smirks up at him. “And then, you know, I was sixteen and wanted to impress a girl, so I stole my dad’s keys and took her up there with some hot cocoa and Bailey’s and one thing led to another…” she tips her head to the side again, laughing when he clears his throat.

“Well,” he starts, then realizes he has nothing to say to that (at least nothing that won’t seem like he’s offering to perform a reenactment out on this very public balcony with her), so he tries again. “Well.”

Nope, he’s got nothing.

Sloane takes pity on him and reaches out, patting him on his arm that rests next to hers on the railing.

“I’m glad I came,” she says, her face turned towards the open air. “I had a good time.”

“Despite Anthony and his two Teslas?” he can’t help but tease.

“Don’t forget his third one, though, back at his house in the Hampton’s.”

“Ah, of course. How could I have forgotten.” Finishing his scotch, he charges ahead: “I’m glad you came, too.”

He’s very glad he limited his alcohol intake, because when Sloane turns to smile at him, he can’t help but note that her eyes rival the sparkle of the city. And if he’d been drunk, he might’ve actually told her that.

Instead, he offers his arm. “I think we’ve made a sufficient appearance. We should be able to escape from captivity now.”

Sloane sets her empty glass on a nearby table and links her arm through hers.

“If I’d had another three of these, I’d make a tiger noise right now.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

They make it to the elevator and down to the front lobby of the hotel without any incident. They, of course, have an argument at the curb about her borrowing his jacket for her trip home, since she forgot to bring a coat in her rush to get to the function.

“Here, at least let me get you a Lyft,” he offers as he hands off his ticket to the valet.

“Oh, no, that’s too much. It’s a nice night, despite the wind.” She slips free of his jacket, handing it back to him. “It’s only a few minutes from here to the T.”

“How far do you live from here?”

She glances back to the street, as if checking for something, before she answers, “I’m all the way across town, over near Fan Pier Park.”

He goes over her route home, recalling that the closest station to her is back on this side of the channel. Which means she’ll have to walk at least ten minutes to get home after her stop, all alone on a Friday night. “Don’t worry,” she continues, as if that’ll stop him, “I do it every night. We’re not that far from the hospital right now, and I make that walk at all hours of the evening.”

You’re usually with your roommates, he wants to point out.

She’s already angling her body towards the street, readying to make her journey home. “I’ll be okay, Ethan.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“You live in the heart of downtown. You could throw a rock and hit City Hall.”

“It’s… on my way.”

He gets another eyebrow raise for that lie.

“It’s not even remotely on your way. You’d have to backtrack.”

“Barely over a mile. That’s not the end of the world.”

“Doctor Ramsey--” she tries, but the valet interrupts their argument, waving over to where another woman has brought his car around.

“Come on, McTavish.” He doesn’t glance back to see if she’s following -- he can see well enough in the lobby’s tall windows as she huffs out a sigh and trails after him.

“It’s nice here,” she comments as they wait at a stoplight somewhere along Congress Street.

He’d opted for the side streets, instead of taking a chance with the highway and its propensity for wrecks inside the tunnel. It certainly has nothing to do with the route taking longer the way he’s chosen, thus an increase in time of being in Sloane’s presence.

“In my heated seats? Of course it is. Beats the hard, plastic ones on the T any day.”

“I meant here as in the city, Boston. It’s a nice change of pace from the… constant-ness of New York City.”

“Constant-ness is not a word.”

“It is a word when I’ve gotten off a fifteen-hour shift, then had to walk around in these heels all night, and then was bullied into a car.”

“I did not bully you--”

“Okay, you didn’t bully me. How about: arrogantly demanded?”

He hums, as if in consideration.

“I’ll concede to arrogantly demanded.”

That sparks another chuckle from her, grinning over at him from his passenger seat.

“But yes, I lived in New York City. Therefore, I get to say what it was or was not.”

“It’s rather constant here, too,” he points out. A chorus of honks back up his statement as two cars blow through a red, blocking the intersection when the traffic ahead stops.

“New York was such a high turnover city to me. I had seventeen different roommates when I was living off-campus my third year of med school. People would come from all over the world to chase their dreams. By three weeks in, they came to the realization that it was going to be a lot harder than TV made it out to be. Why would they bother trying to live in one of the world’s most expensive cities being a temp or a waitress, when they could be back in Minneapolis or Nashville or Rochester doing the same thing.”

“That’s… rather depressing.”

She shrugs at his summation.

“It’s just how it was. And why I love living here in comparison. Here, everyone seems a lot more… rooted. I mean, barring unforeseen circumstances, I’ll be here for three years for residency. It’s nice to have that, to have friends who are in the same boat as me.”

His mind unwillingly travels three years ahead, when Sloane inevitably goes off to Johns Hopkins or Vanderbilt or Seattle Grace, and he never sees her again. “People come here to stay here,” she continues, unaware of his sobering thoughts. “I like it.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, not trusting himself to ask if she can see herself staying here permanently. If she can see a place for herself on his team, because if she keeps at it like she has been, he can easily see her joining him.

He doesn’t want to hear her plans if her answer to that is no.

Instead, he flips on the radio. He taps along to the bass drums as she hums in time with the string instruments and he reminds himself that he cannot fall in love with her (not that it does any good).

“Nice place,” he says, and means it. The apartment building faces to the north, with a spectacular view of the harbor to the west. A doorman waves at Sloane as she starts to climb out.

“Thanks!”

“It might be rude of me to ask, but when I was in residency, I lived out of a shoebox. How did you all manage to secure a place like this?”

She glances over to the bay, biting at her lip, before meeting his curious gaze.

“We might have ganged up on the landlord and convinced him that our competition were communists.”

“Wow.”

“Well, ganged up is a strong term. But...yeah. First time I’ve ever been thankful I paid attention in that American History class in undergrad.”

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“Oh, Doctor Ramsey,” she says with a shake of her head, that familiar smile making its appearance, “if you’re impressed by that, you should see what else I’m capable of.” With that, she grabs her purse from the floorboard, thanking him again for the ride, before rushing up to the double doors.

Ethan stays, wanting to make sure she gets inside safely, and watches her chat with the doorman for a moment. He can tell when she notices him still at the curb, and flicks a hand up at her when she waves to him. He waits a moment longer, watching her turn and head deeper into the lobby, until she disappears into a waiting elevator.

“I can’t wait to find out, Rookie.”

#ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart #ethan ramsey x mc fanfiction #thought I was done with writing choices fic when most wanted 2 was declared DOA and I got bummed out #but here we are #Kaila writes things #metaphor series #f: the metaphor series

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casseythebee · 5 years ago

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The Sound of Music and the Smell of Roses

Prompt: “Hello little one. We can’t wait to meet you”

Summary: You had been living with the Winchesters, Charlie, and Jack for a long time, and you and Sam had been dating and in love for a while, and you have been planning on how to tell Sam you are pregnant for a week now and today is the day

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 1.5-ish

Warning: swears, sickness, pregnancy (if that is a warning?), if there is anything else you can think of don’t hesitate to tell me

A/N: I was thinking and I might make this into a series-ish, but I probably won’t write it in order

[(Y/N)’s Point of View]

“Dean I can’t!” You squeal.

“You have to! Charlie counters.

Dean and Charlie have always been your go-to buddies for this kind of stuff. Every Wednesday while Cas, Jack, and Sam are out shopping you guys huddle around the fireplace, no matter how hot it is, and just chat. Most of the time gushing over hot people, almost always girls, but a lot of the time just sharing stories and giving advice.

Today you are contemplating of you should really tell your boyfriend Sam the news, you're pregnant. You don’t know how he will react, will he be mad? Happy? Will he be scared he will turn out to be like his father? You have no clue.

“Jack and I will go to the movies and Dean and Cas will go out to eat,” Charlie says.

“I told you we don’t mind you guys coming!”

She shakes her head, “No you two need your alone time. You have been cooped up with the rest of us for too long.”

“That settles it we will help you get ready, I’ll text Cas and tell him not to say anything to Sam but make sure Jack knows he is going out. Oh, and to stall him for a bit. Plus I don’t know how much longer I can keep this in!”

You spend the next twenty minutes finding the right outfit and doing your hair.

“I don’t think purple works!” Dean yells.

“No, it’s perfect.” Charlie grabs your jewelry box. “The shade is a mix of baby blue and light pink so it is representing the fact that it could be a girl or a boy.” She holds out my grandmothers black rose necklace and hands it to me.

“Ooo do the black rose gold studs to match!” Dean chirps clapping his hands together.

You settled on leaving your hair natural just using a bit of hairspray to keep it in place. Charlie went light on makeup just doing mascara, painting your lips coral, and contouring your cheekbones, jawline, boobs, and collarbones. Making you look like you have bigger boobs and sharper edges. A fit and flare lavender dress hugs your torso and flows out around you stopping just above your knees, it leaves your chest and shoulders bare, showing enough that it is modest but not enough that Sam won’t be intrigued and want more.

“What do you think?” you ask, twirling in a circle while your dress fans out around you.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Dean admires before walking over and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Charlie walks over and grabs both your hands in hers. “Stunning.”

“Okay now let's set up,” you beam excitedly.

Now you take the table in the library, where you and Sam confessed your feelings at and had your first round of sex on top of, and dust it with rose petals. Next, you take your finest china and set it on the table. They are white plates decorated with pink flowers on the edge, rose gold stainless steel silverware, and the wine glasses that you and Sam painted ourselves. On a date, you and Sam decided to get a little creative so on your way home from dinner, you bought the glasses and paint supplies and painted pink orchids on them. After that, you light a candle and place it in between the two table settings.

“What am I even supposed to say?” you ask flopping into a chair.

“Just tell him,” Dean began, “just don’t dance around it too much, okay?”

“Yeah you don’t want him getting confused,” Charlie adds. “Okay, now we need to finish setting up before they come home.”

Dean searches through the bunker trying to find a way to dim the lights while you and Charlie pick out music.

“How about Begin the Beguine?” she asks pulling the record out of the bin.

“Too much clarinet.”

She shifts around a bit more before pulling one out. “The Song Is You?”

I shake my head.

“Night and Day?” she asks pulling out another record.

“None of these sound very romantic.”

She rolls her eyes, “Because you aren’t listening to them. Listen to the next one and I’m sure you’ll love it. It’s called How Deep Is The Ocean?”

And sure enough, you do. The instruments start flowing through the room, a gorgeous female voice sings like an angel is singing such loving lyrics.

“How much do I love you?

I'll tell you no lie

How deep is the ocean?

How high is the sky?”

That is all I needed just those few words and you are hooked. “This is it. This is the one.”

“Told you,” Charlie mumbles under breath.

You playfully slap her arm and she goes to shove you. But before she can Dean yells, “Hey! You can’t do that she’s pregnant!”

You smirk at her. “Aha I’m immune,” you tease.

Dean screams from the other room and the lights dim. “Cas says he will be here any minute!” He comes sprinting into the room and almost crashes into you.

“Woah, Woah, Woah! What are you screaming about?” Charlie asks putting her hands on his chest to stop him.

“Cas!” He is panting slightly. “He is coming! I’m so excited!”

You look over at him my eyes a little wide, you're nervous again. “Dean,” you whisper. “How do you think he will react?”

His eyes skim over to you, softening. “Oh, you have no idea! He has wanted the apple pie life all his life, but he never has been able to. But now? He has the girl and now the life. He will be over the moon.”

“Okay we need to go leave her, Dean let’s go.” Charlie grabs Dean by the arm and starts dragging him towards the door.

“Wait!” He strides over and envelops you in a hug placing his hand on your head pulling you closer, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I love you kiddo, good luck.”

Charlie walks over ruffling your hair slightly and kisses your cheek. “Stay strong.”

[Sam’s Point of View]

“Dean, what are you doing out here?”

“Um… I would like to speak to Cas,” he says, a slight pause in between each word and his voice lifting at the end like a question.

I give him a quizzical look and grab a few shopping bags from the back and ask Jack to help me bring in the rest.

The door slams behind me and I walk down the steps stopping at the music. The table is decorated with rose petals and candles, and our nice china.

All of a sudden the sound of retching is coming from the other room followed by something liquid hitting another liquid.

“(Y/N), love?” I call out. “Is that you?”

You whimpers.

“Are you okay?”

“Sammy?” you moan.

I put the bags down, making sure not to disturb the things on the table and run to the bathroom.

(Y/N) is sprawled out on the bathroom floor. You are leaning over the toilet puking your brains out, your hair fanned out around you. Your purple dress is disheveled.

You groan again and sit up. “Sam,” you whisper. “You’re not supposed to see me like this. I had it all planned, and you were going to be thrilled and happy for us, b-but… but now-” Your voice cracks and you choke out a sob. Tears are pouring out of your eyes and streaking your makeup.

“What do you mean? What do you have planned?” I ask you. “The dinner out there?”

You are crying harder now. You gag and slap a hand over your mouth lean over the toilet. I hold back your hair and you vomit a lot.

“Why are you sick? Did you eat something?”

You cough again and sit up wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. “Because Sam…” You sob again. “I’m pregnant.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Wh… what?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a week now, Charlie and Dean helped me plan this all, and just because of fucking morning sickness.”

“Aw sweetie, let’s get you cleaned up and then we can go eat.”

You gag again. “I’m so sorry but I don’t know if I can ever eat again.” Another groan escapes you.

I spend the next few minutes cleaning you up and getting you into comfy clothes, the entire time peppering kisses all over your skin. We get you shimmied into a pair of leggings and one of my flannels, it looks so big and adorable on you. I carry you bridal style onto the couch and set you down gingerly.

Spreading your legs a little I kneel in between them placing my hands on your hips. I kiss along your stomach and stop nestling my nose.

“Hello, little one. We can’t wait to meet you.”

You chuckle and drag me up by my hair placing a small loving kiss on my lips and drag me so we are sitting on the couch with your head in my lap.

We watch movies all night and eventually fall asleep to the sound of music and the smell of roses.

#Sam Winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #Charlie Bradbury #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic

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pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles · 6 years ago

Text

Can’t Hold Back (Girls Talk Boys Part 27)

Another shooting star goes by And in the night the silence speaks to you and I And now the time has come at last Don't let the moment run too fast I can feel you tremble when we touch And I feel the hand of fate reaching out to both of us There's a story in my eyes, turn the pages of desire Now it's time to trade those dreams For the rush of passion's fire

(A/N if you have a problem with plus sized positivity or plus sized characters this isn’t the story or blog for you.)

Cher took a shot from the bartender and leaned back against the bar of the The Chelsea's VIP. It was about an hour until midnight on New Year's Eve and the party was in full swing. Cher was hanging back with Cody enjoying the open bar.

“So who are you going home with tonight? Nick or Harry?” Cher teased him.

“You make it sound like I only have two options” Cody shot back grinning.

“Yeah that's what you need, more options” Cher poked him in the ribs.

“Don't get pissy with me just because you haven't gotten laid in a while,” Cody was only half joking. “Planning on getting any tonight? That ginger keeps checking you out.”

“Who? Jake? He works with Camille and he's not bad but I just haven't been feeling it lately.” Cher shrugged.

“You haven't been feeling it because it's in Australia.” Cody smirked at her.

“Fuck off” Cher flipped him off and ordered another drink.

Cher watched Camille hold court surrounded by friends and colleagues. Cher was far from shy, but she'd never been the type to enjoy being the center of attention. Camille, however, thrived in the spotlight. She was a people person, schmoozer and a natural born hustler. Cher saw her chatting with a couple of NFL players agents she'd managed to invite through her connections. Camille could flirt, tease, or bargain to get information about which players were looking to be traded, who was hurt, which guys were having personal issues and other tidbits that might be useful in her game strategy. She'd also talked Harry into letting her invite her boss and co-workers, including the cute ginger. Camille knew how to throw a party so why was Cher so annoyed with the whole thing?

Cher glanced over towards the stairs her jaw dropped when she saw Calum walk in. She caught his eye and he gave her a smile but his eyes were searching for Camille. Cher's heart soared knowing how much this would mean to Camille but quickly sank when she also realized Calum was alone. She saw Calum's face light up but he looked a little irritated. Cher whipped her head around and Camille was on the couch sitting very close to one of the agents.

Calum took a second to look at Camille and let the flash of irrational anger fade, she'd told him weeks ago that since he wasn't going to be there she might as well turn it into a work event. He recognized several of her coworkers and the guy flirting with Camille looked familiar as well. She'd made it very clear his jealousy was an issue and that her career was important to her.

“What are you waiting for?” Cher came up to him and gave him a hug.

“I like watching her sometimes, when she doesn't know and can't get self conscious. She looks absolutely fucking gorgeous tonight.” Calum always loved it when she wore dresses and got dolled up. Tonight she had on a light pink shimmery dress cut low enough to show a little cleavage and a big puffy skirt. She’d kicked off her silver strappy heels to the side, she’d worn them despite the fact that even Calum knew they hurt her feet. Her hair was pulled up into a twist with small curls coming down around her face. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup with shades of pinks and purples on her eyes, pink highlighter on her nose, cheekbones and cleavage and dark pink lipstick calum couldn’t wait to mess up. At just that moment Camille glanced over at Cher with a quick smile before doing a double take. Camille stood up so quickly she got dizzy and had to steady herself but by then Calum had her in his arms and off her feet.

“BABY YOU'RE HOME” Camille squealed before smothering Calum in kisses.

“I wanted to surprise my girlfriend by being her New years kiss” Calum told her when he could finally breathe again.

“You two are too much you know” Cher laughed at them. Of course Calum had pulled off the big romantic moment, Camille was lucky to have him. Cher let them retreat over to the corner booth while she placed a drink order.

“10 minutes till midnight” someone shouted.

She made her way to their table trying to drown her sour mood in rum and soda. Calum had Camille scooped up into his lap and his face was buried in her neck. Camille's coworker Jake had joined them with the clear intent of making a move on Cher. She'd just reached the table when she felt hands on her shoulders spinning her around. Cher found herself gazing into familiar hazel eyes and felt her irritation vanish.

“Did you miss me kitten?” Ashton raised an eyebrow at her.

Cher didn't bother with words when her body melted into his as he pulled her into a deep kiss.

Camille saw Ashton sneaking up behind Cher and was thrilled that finally her best friend could enjoy her night. Camille herself was absolutely beside herself with joy.

5…..4…...3…..2…..1

Camille got to kiss her boyfriend at midnight, she couldn't think of a better way to start the new year. Just this morning she'd woken up and her whole body was frustrated and craving Calum's touch, and now she was wrapped in his arms with his hand slowly creeping up her leg. It was distracting her from the two men trying to hold a conversation with her. Both Jake and Nathaniel worked with her, but they were huge fans of Calum's and Camille thought it was cute they were starstruck. Calum pulled himself away from nuzzling Camille's neck to engage her friends in conversation. They were sitting across from him in the booth so the table prevented them from seeing his hand moving in between Camille's legs. His long fingers finding their way into her already soaked panties.

Camille took a long drink of her cocktail to stop herself from moaning out loud when his thumb began rubbing slow deliberate circles around her clit and whispered in her ear. “I'm sorry baby, but I can't wait until we get home. I need to feel you now.”

Camille whimpered and finding all eyes on her she pointed to Cher who was sneaking out with Ashton and whined “my best friend is ducking out on me.”

“Nice save babe,” Calum chuckled continuing to torment her.

Camille rubbed the back of his neck before digging her nails into his shoulder. She heard Calum inhale sharply before continuing his story about the hike they'd gone on while camping.

It took all of Camille's willpower to pretend to listen to what he was saying, but she didn't need the entire room to realize what Calum was up to. She could tell by the little glances and the smug look on his face he was enjoying this. She shifted in his lap grinding her ass down on his hard cock. Calum's fingers stopped and he whispered in her ear “baby, if you make me cum in my pants I won't let you sit on my face later, so be good and hold still.”

Camille bit her lip to keep from saying anything in response. Fucking hell she'd missed him, not just the sex although right this second his calloused fingers on her soft skin felt like absolute heaven, but his scent, his warmth, his strength and feeling of security he brought with him. His fingers started moving again, slowly and tortuously teasing her until she could feel her orgasm starting to build. Calum could feel her tensing up so he began to tell a story about Ashton and a giant spider talking even faster and louder attracting more of a crowd as Camille drew closer to the edge. Camille trying to will herself not to cum but Calum wasn't about to let that happen. He wasn't about to embarrass her in front of everyone either.

“So the spider got in the tent and I'm freaking out because Ashton is sleeping and there's this massive fucking spider. I grab my boot because it's the biggest thing in the tent at the moment and who knows if he's got friends waiting to jump me if I go outside.” Calum can see Camille's jaw is clenched and her breathing is heavy. “I'm coming at him with the boot and he's looking at me when suddenly he JUMPS RIGHT ON ME” Calum grabs Camille's shoulder as if she'd just been attacked by this monster arachnid.

“Oh my God Calum” Camille yelled out in fear and ecstasy as adrenaline and orgasm hit her at once. The entire place erupted in laughter. Camille started laughing and buried her head on his shoulder her teeth sinking into his skin so she could control her urge to yell even louder as Calum wouldn't let up until she whispered “please stop I can't here” into his ear.

“You can't get up yet darling” he whispered back. “You've got me way too hard. Just wait till I get you home.”

“You've got it all wrong babe, wait till I get YOU home.” Camille kissed him.

“Are you two just going to start making out now” Jake teased her sliding out of the booth.

“I haven't seen my boyfriend in a month so yeah, I want his attention. Sorry not sorry.” Camille stuck her tongue out at him and the guys all laughed and wandered off.

“Boyfriend hmmmm?” Calum was grinning at her.

“You said it first so I figured that made it official” Camille shrugged trying to act like it was no big deal.

“Camille, darling it's been official for me since the minute you followed me into that bathroom. I was just waiting for you feel the same.”

Cher watched Ashton fumble with the key to the door. Neither of them had said a word since leaving the club but on the drive home they hadn't been able to stop touching. She tickled his neck, then her hand was in his as he kissed her wrist and sucked on her fingers, his hand gripped her knee before she twisted in her seat to run her hand along his chest. They'd both moved past the teasing, the games, relieved that the anxiety neither would admit to, fear that the other one would find someone else while they were apart, hadn't ruined things the way it usually did. Right now the only thing on Cher's mind was Ashton and how this was an excitement she hadn't known before.

The door swung open and Ashton pulled her inside and pinned her against the wall while he kicked the door shut. One large hand twisted in her hair the other pulling at the front of her halter dress to expose her breasts. His teeth nipped a trail down her neck and collarbone leaving marks and making Cher moan loudly and buck her hips away from the wall. Ashton quickly slammed them back before continuing moving down to her nipples flicking his tongue over the bar piercings and grazing his teeth across the rosy skin.

“Missed you kitten, the videos were sexy but nothing is better than having you here with me” Ashton was panting, rubbing his bulge against her thigh as his mouth continued it's attack on her breasts.

“Please don't stop, please don't tease me,” Cher begged shamelessly pushing herself onto him.

Ashton pulled her hands over her head kissing her grinding against her body getting both of them more turned on until he broke the kiss and looked down at her.

“Go stand by the couch and bend over” Ashton growled.

Cher moved across the room and waited.

“Pull up your dress and bend over with your ass towards me” Ashton commanded.

She did and Ashton walked up behind her giving her big ass a solid smack causing Cher to cry out.

“Too hard kitten?” Ashton wanted to check.

“No sir, I like it” Cher pushed her ass towards him in response.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat” Ashton knelt behind her and buried his entire face in her pussy.

Cher found herself gripping the edge of the couch trying to keep her balance as Ashton's tongue and long fingers furiously assaulted her senses finding new ways to pleasure her until she quickly felt her climax building. Knowing what was going to happen she tried to pull his head away but he shook his head against her and refused to let go until she was squirting against his face.

Her legs were too shaky to stand so she knelt with her back against the couch.

“Please sir can I suck you off” Cher asked him batting her eyes at him.

“Oh fuck,” Ashton swore pulling his pants down.

Cher took his cock down her throat allowing him to fuck her face knowing he wouldn't last long. As he came in her mouth she gagged a bit causing her eyes to water but she never let go and watched as Ashton threw his head back with an almost pained look from that intensity of his orgasm.

After they both caught their breath Ashton helped her to her feet and kissed her gently.

“That was amazing doll, but wait till you see what I have planned for round 2” he led her upstairs.

“Do you think it would be weird if I wanted to take a shower?” Cher asked.

“Not at all,” Ashton handed her a pair of shorts and one of his T shirts. “You get started and I'll get us some drinks and join you in a bit.”

Twenty minutes later Cher emerged from the shower feeling ready to go but wondering where Ashton was. She checked the kitchen and then headed back to the bedroom. He was on his back on the bed with his phone in his hand. His shirt was off and he was clad only in his boxers. Unfortunately he was also dead to the world fast asleep.

Cher tried everything to wake him up but to no avail. She thought about just going home but Camille and Calum might be there and they were definitely not sleeping, in the end she decided to stay that night with Ashton. She rarely did that but she knew she could order food and have more peace and quiet here. Not only that but she had every intention of seeing what he had planned for later.

Camille stretched out like a cat before curling into Calum's bare sweaty chest. A month was way too long to go without sex when you were dating Calum but it did make the sex more intense. The way Calum hadn't broken eye contact, his forehead pressed to hers, when he entered her and began with slow deep strokes until he couldn't resist kissing her again. When he'd sat up while she was riding him pulling her close to his chest fluttering kisses against her shoulders as she reached another orgasm. They dozed off for a bit and when Camille woke up Calum was still asleep, she loved watching him sleep because she could admire him as long as she pleased without feeling weird for staring. She couldn't believe this beautiful boy in her bed actually wanted her, but he'd told her and shown her enough times that she was starting to. As her fingers traced his bicep his dark eyes opened and he smiled before closing his eyes again.

“Baby you can sleep for 15 more minutes but then I'm going to sit on your face before I suck your cock” Camille purred in his ear pressing her breasts into his chest.

“Baby I'm awake right now” Calum's eyes popped open.

@biba3434 @toofadedtofight @babygirlcashton @slimthicccal @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @vfdsstuff

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cancerianprincess · 6 years ago

Text

“Wicked Coronation” (vampire! T’Challa)

Warning(s): None

Recommend Listen/Song Inspo: “Stranger Things” ~ Joyner Lucas & Chris Brown

A/N: This was just a little something I decided to crank out before spooky szn was officially over after being inspired by this photo (which ALL credit for goes to @persephone ). Happy Halloween, you guys. Enjoy 👻🧛🏾‍♂️🎃😈

______

“Unbelievable.”

Reyna scoffed as she headed back to her car, shaking her head at the vast level of tardiness her date was displaying tonight. She couldn’t believe that after willingly putting herself out there, he had the nerve to be late.

As a result of listening to her best friend, Talia, Reyna had put on her best outfit, a crimson colored velvet bodycon dress that was to die for, a pair of dazzling single dangle earrings and single matching bangles on each wrist, and her best heels which were a pair of sleek black stilettos that would have any man or woman eating out the palm of her hand. The twist out was on point, matte lipstick was popping, and her glitter red acrylics still looked fresh as can be.

So imagine the amount of irritation Reyna felt bubbling inside her upon realizing she had been stood up while looking like a full course meal.

After be more than courteous enough to wait forty five minutes past the agreed meeting time, Reyna was now heading back to her car while tapping away furiously on her phone.

‘It’s been almost an hour and he didn’t show sooo guess who’s leaving 🙃’

Reyna began fishing through her black clutch while awaiting Talia’s reply, knowing she was hovering over her phone in expectation of every last detail.

Wifey 🤗💋(2)

‘Excuse me 👀 you said what now??’

‘Do I need to make a trip that way?’

A light but warm chuckle escaped Reyna’s lips in response to the ride or die aura her girlfriend was exuberating. “And yet she loves to claim that I’m the crazy one,” Reyna thought to herself.

‘Pipe down girl, it’s all good lol. If he can’t act right then he can certainly get left’

“And he if think shit sweet next time I see him, he got another thing coming.” This time Reyna had spoken out loud, but despite the rhetorical nature she still received an unexpected response.

“Oh, entle,” a baritone voice cut through the dark. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

Well, partially unexpected response, at least.

Reyna folded her arms across her chest after stopping halfway down the alley just a few feet short of her car. “You’re late.”

She glared intensely at the man posted up against said vehicle who was dressed in a spotless all black suit, and yet still managed to stand out in contrast to the dark of the night. The first few buttons of the matching onyx dress shirt he donned underneath had been left unfastened, leaving the fabric to hang open exposing his defined pecs ever so slightly. There was a red pocket square in the front of his jacket, and as if to accent the accessory, he held in his hand a single red rose, inhaling its scent right before his eyes cut to his other half.

“Forgive me, my love,” her boyfriend apologized. “I’m afraid I let time get away from me while I was...tying up some loose ends.” He pushed off the Lamborghini to approach Reyna, but for the two steps he took to be in arm’s length of her, she took a step back.

“Uh-uh, T’Challa. Using your ‘voodoo magic’ is not going to get you off the hook for this so don’t even try it,” Reyna reprimanded him. “What ‘loose ends’ were so important that you had to keep me waiting for nearly an hour, on tonight of all nights? It’s not like we have all the time in the world!”

Since the night Reyna had accidentally ended up in the wrong Halloween party to say the least, T’Challa turned rescuing her from a group of savage gargoyles into a tradition of treating Reyna to a night out on the supernatural side of town. In the past four years since that fateful encounter, it was fair to say that the two had fallen for each other, regardless of the vampire/mortal dynamic that frequently posed as a challenge for them. But, nevertheless, Reyna adored her other-worldly beau and accepted him wholeheartedly, fangs and all. If anything, the true nature of his origins fascinated her.

Which is why T’Challa had finally decided on what to grant his lover with as a reward for finishing up graduate school. And what better gift was there than making Reyna a part of his world rather than just a frequent visitor?

“Well, usana, not that I need use of my powers to get you to forgive me, which you and I both know,” T’Challa stated. He quickly stepped in closer perimeter of Reyna before she had the chance to retreat any further, placing the lone flower in her hand.

“But I suppose you have waited long enough for your surprise,” he went on, a devious smirk playing at his lips. In the mere seconds that Reyna had become distracted by the gorgeous creature’s charisma, he had circled around his girlfriend like a vulture as she closed her eyes to sniff the rose.

Burying his face in the crook near Reyna’s collarbone, and running his hands along her amber skin until they were wrapped snugly around her waist, T’Challa spoke seductively into her ear, “Time to get a taste of what we’ve been missing out on.”

And with that, before Reyna even had an opportunity to utter a syllable in protest, T’Challa bore his pearly white fangs, and bit directly down into the right side of her neck.

*******

Whatever pain had hit the new grad student from the chomp in her flesh went away as quickly as it came. The second Reyna felt the teeth sink into her vein she could have guessed correctly what was happening, but of course there was no time to fully analyze the possibility. Because the moment her eyes had snapped open just as fast as they’d clamped shut, Reyna found herself standing in the VIP section of the same forbidden nightclub she’d stumbled into over four years ago.

Perched on the overlook she could see the entire dance floor below packed and lively beneath her feet with every fictional creature one could think of when it came to spooky season. Their forms collided together rhythmically in time with the music blaring through the speakers, while the colored strobe lights flashes different hues of red and purple creating endless shadows against the walls.

Moving closer to the railing, Reyna noticed that her body felt different; that it felt...strange. A good kind of strange. Her chocolate color orbs now glowed the same shade of scarlet as her dress, and all her senses seemed to amplified ten times over, including her ability to easily detect a lingering presence hanging over her shoulder.

“Enticing, isn’t it?” T’Challa asked from behind her. “You see, since the minute we met I detected there was something special about you, however I failed in putting my finger on it right away. Still I longed to know more of you anyway, despite it going against my conventional practices.” He drifted to Reyna’s side, continuing with his thoughts while watching over his subjects along with her.

“But with the passage of time, I was able to uncover at last what it was that inevitably drew me to you.” The demon turned to Reyna, cupping her chin in his grasp to direct all her attention to him.

“It was your passion, Reyna,” T’Challa confessed while staring into her newly colored irises. “Your captivation with the unknown, the way you’re enthralled by mystery; it was in your eyes the first night we met. Instead of turning away from me in fear, you allowed your fascination to learn more about my world guide you. I knew then, that I could trust you to be mine.”

The two were now inches apart, giving the demon leeway to close the gap by pressing his lips to hers. Reyna melted into the kiss, finding herself more attracted to her boyfriend as ever due to his observation of her. She moaned lightly into his mouth, only to let out a slight whimper when he broke away.

“Now done with school, you have no more immediate obligations holding you to the mortal world permanently, but if you still choose to walk away, then I possess a potion that will reverse the bite I gave you if consumed before sunrise,” T’Challa muttered, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“But, neglect to take it by then, and your days as a mortal will be over.”

The vampire began backtracking slowly to the center seat that served as his throne until seated back upon it with one foot placed across the opposing knee.

“So, what do you say, my love?” His eyes blinked closed briefly, glowing blood red when they opened again as he made his final offer. “Will you join my world? Lead along with me as my equal in ruling over these heathens?”

Reyna stood and thought for a moment, remembering that she owed her good friend details about how the ‘anniversary dinner’ had went once it was finished. Knowing she would get a kick out of spinning this one, she could barely contain the smile spreading across her face.

“Darling,” Reyna started, running her tongue across her freshly obtained fangs while stalking over to her soulmate seductively. “It would be an absolute honor to call you my king.”

But that conversation would have to wait until later, because right now, Reyna was about to become Queen of the Underworld.

~~~~~

~Tags 🖤~

@iamrheaspeaks @princesskillmonger @eriknutinthispoosy @brianabreeze @wheredidallthedreamersgo @halcyonscry @okoyesbabe @mareethequeen @marvelpotterlove @muse-of-mbaku @chaneajoyyy @another-imaginesblog

#vampire! t’challa #black panther #t’challa x black oc #spooktober #fictober #halloween #vampire!au #happy halloween #black panther imagines #cancerianpricess

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