#they gave me buff ladies

[dancingthrewlifewithasmile]

I wanna come back to this post to let everyone know I've ended my relationship with Bioware and announce that my new true love is Larian because they Understood The Assignment.

girls dont want boyfriends, girls want Bioware to give us a beefy girlfriend that's actually romanceable in dragon age 4

[ruvvik]

alright fuck it you guys have convinced me I'm going to play bg3

[solcarow]

.

[pomegranatesarchive]

please date my sister in law | max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: the one where charles won’t rest until he gets his fiancée’s sister a boyfriend.

liked by maxverstappen1, yoursistersuser, 806,026 others!

charles_leclerc: are you a hot and single guy OR woman in monaco looking for the perfect lady? well boy do i have good news for you! here we have yn ln, my sister-in law, she’s VERY single, likes long walks on the beach, napping, eating, and knitting. if you are interested please comment below! SERIOUS OFFERS ONLY.

view comments below!

yourusername: what the fuck is this charles

charles_leclerc: this is me getting you a boyfriend?

yourusername: NO CHARLES THIS IS JUST NO. @/yoursistersuser TAKE HIS PHONE?

yoursistersuser: I HAVE BUT HE JUST KEEPS BUYING MORE

charles_leclerc: i cannot be stopped

user1: i’m interested?

charles_leclerc: no you are too ugly

yourusername: cha please stop

charles_leclerc: i will stop once i get you a nice PRETTY boyfriend

yoursistersuser: love, please delete this

charles_leclerc: i would do anything for you… except deleted this. yn needs a bf, she’s been to lonely lately

yoursistersuser: but this doesn’t help her get a boyfriend charles

charles_leclerc: but it will!! have faith

user2: he’s trying to sell her like she’s a dog?? 😭

user3: “likes long walks on the beach, napping, eating” IS SHE A DOG CHARLES??

user4: this is borderline weird and thoughtful at the same time

user5: charles get engaged and goes crazy

user6: i’m interested!

charles_leclerc: no you are far too short

yourusername: what’s the point of this if you’re just going to reject everyone

charles_leclerc: i need to pick someone suitable, i don’t need someone ugly or short ruining my wedding pictures

yourusername; then how about you delete this and don’t have to worry about “someone ugly or short ruining my wedding pictures”

charles_leclerc; but i don’t want you alone and sad in the pictures either!

user7: yn doesn’t have a bf?? she’s gorgeous

user8: charles you work with 19 perfectly rich, fine, and tall?? (not really, depends) men, set her up with them

user9: girl half of those men are taken

user8: okay so like 8 rich, fine, and tall (??) men, those are still lots of chances

oscarpiastri: what is going on?

charles_leclerc: are you interested oscar? because you’d be my top pick.

oscarpiastri: i’m too busy with racing for relationships right now, sorry!

yourusername: i just got rejected in front of the whole world through my brother-in law. CHARLES PLEASE STOP THIS

user9: hey so this is crazy!

user10: it’s cute that he cares enough about this too make a whole post

yourusername: charles please stop i’m getting so many dick pics

user12: gross

user13: oh that’s not…

user14: #freeyn

user15: why is he trying to sell her like a dog

user16: if this actual works, i fear we will never hear the end of it from charles

charles_leclerc: all those who are sending dick pics to my sister-in law WILL be reported for harassment. you are lucky my fiancé is holding me back from posting your small dicks all over social media.

user17: POST THE SMALL DICKS CHARLES, DO IT

user18: STOP HOLDING HIM BACK!! LET HIM BE FREE

user19: when he’s protective over his soon to be family >>

user20: three days into summer break and charles has gone crazy

yourusername: i gave you permission to propose to my sister and this is how you repay me?

yoursistersuser: we’re stuck with him for this rest of our lives 😓

yourusername: please, don’t remind me.

user21: “guy or woman” is yn gay?

charles_leclerc: yes! she is half homosexual :)

yourusername: jesus charles

charles_leclerc: what? it’s true!

danielricciardo: can you do one of these post for me?

charles_leclerc: you are rich, tall and buff. no.

charles_leclerc; @/maxverstappen1, @/georgerussell63, @/oscarpiastri, @/carlossainz55, @/alex_albon, @/danielricciardo, @/landonorris who’s interested? 😁

alex_albon; nope

danielricciardo: this weird mate

oscarpiastri; i’ve already said no

landonorris: no thank you

carlossainz55: no thank you

georgerussell63: shakes head

yourusername; kill me now

charles_leclerc: okay. whatever. i don’t care.

carlossainz55: he cares

charles_leclerc: on a completely totally unrelated note @/maxverstappen1, join me for coffee tomorrow morning?

maxverstappen1: sure 👍

— cafe near charles house, 9am, on the dot.

— max verstappen has posted a new story!

[caption: nice cafe 👍]

story responses:

charles_leclerc: hehehehe 😈

user22: SO YOU AND YN WERE HANGING OUT??

user23: that twitter user wasn’t lying??!?!??

user24: charles set you and yn up huh 😼

danielricciardo: who goes to a cafe and gets tea?

maxverstappen1: yn does. and then i felt awkward ordering something else.

danielricciardo: it’s been years and she still makes you nervous?? 🤣

maxverstappen1: shut it

landonorris: i’m surprised you didn’t run away in fear when you say her instead of charles

maxverstappen1: so does everyone just know about charles plan or what?

landonorris: pretty much yeah!

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 501,026 others!

yourusername: july and august photo dump 👍

view comments below!

charles_leclerc: my wedding is in a week, why are you posting on instagram and not freaking out?

yourusername: i can multitask

charles_leclerc: maybe you having a bf was a bad idea, you are too distracted 😑

yourusername; lalalala can’t hear you

user23: boyfriend you say? 😏

user24: 2 months and shes been seen "hanging out" with max more then 10 times, AND she justs posted jimmy or sassy (i cant tell the difference) what are you tryna say yn?

user25: man i can’t believe charles actually got yn a boyfriend

user26: and it’s MAX. like his max.

user27: how do yall even know theyre dating?

user25: context clues babes

user28: this is the closest we’ll get to yn and max making it “official”

user29: i feel like if they go to the wedding together, that’ll be them making it “official”

user30: oh definitely

maxverstappen1: puzzles are hard

yourusername: they’re easy when you focus on

maxverstappen1: how can i focus when i when i have a gorgeous woman should as yourself near me?

landonorris: that was smooth man 👏

maxverstappen1: thank you, i’ve been practicing

user31: and people are still saying they aren’t together??

user32: people want them to post a story wirh the caption “this is us making it official” 💀 like babes this is the best we’re going to get

user33: i can’t believe the wedding of the century is in ONE WEEK??

user34: it feels like just yesterday when charles accidentally told the whole world he was engaged

liked by charles_leclerc, yourisistersuser, and 1,026,027 others!

yourusername: today, my sister married an idiot

view comments below!

user35: that wedding was so fucking gorgeous

user36: charles and yn planned the whole thing?? fuck f1 we need them as party planners

yourusername: planning this wedding was the most stressful thing in my fucking life. i never want to plan anything ever again

user37: well the wedding was beautiful so, worth it?

user38: i was expecting a much more emotional caption

user39: she got all her emotions out during her speech 😭

user40: OMG HER SPEECH WAS THE CUTEST THING. “charles you have changed mine and my sisters life for the better. you have introduced me to someone who makes me feel like i’m on cloud 9.” THE CAMERA PANS TO MAX??? “i know we joke and what not, but… i don’t know, just…thank you for making me feel like family.” TEARS ARE STREAMING DOWN MY FACE “i love you both so much,” I CRIED, CHARLES CRIED, EVERYONE CRIED

user41: we will never get that amount of emotion from yn ever again

user42: i will enjoy it while it last

yoursistersuser: i did indeed marry an idiot.

yourusername: it’s okay tho! we still like him

charles_leclerc: awwwww 🥰🥰

user43: charles just ignoring the idiot part

user44: it’s been a good day. yn and max made itt official, charles got married, and the wedding was gorgeous

user45: f1 twt has never been so peaceful

user46; RIGHT??? everyone’s just celebrating the marriage

maxverstappen1: will we have a big wedding?

yourusername: absolutely not. unless charles plans it by himself, we’re getting married in a courthouse

charles_leclerc: are you serious? you’ll let me plan your wedding?

yourusername: you proved yourself with this wedding so yes

charles_leclerc: AHHHHHH OMG OMG OMG I HAVE TO GET STARTED

user47: first it started with him trying to get her a bf, now he’s planning her wedding

user48: i feel like a proud mom watching her kids grow up 😢

. . .

notes; pls pls pls send me blurb or smau request!! i have 2 weeks left of vacation and i must make the most of it

[scarletlizzard]

Inked Desires - Part 2

Read Part 1 right here

Summary: After your one night stand with a stranger turns into a regular hookup, feelings begin to develop between you and Natasha. A night out at the bar with your friends has her begging wanting more with you.

Pairing: gp!Natasha x fem!Reader

Tags MINORS DNI: natasha has a dick, buff out this world & covered with tats and piercings, little bit of yearning and pining, mentions of alcohol, smut, blowjob, unprotected sex, breeding, begging, miscommunication

Masterlist

A/N: Part 1 blew up like crazy! I never ever thought I would EVER get that many notes. Especially for, essentially, a smut piece I wasn't used to writing. After being asked a few times, I agreed to make a part 2, buuut I've been in a (bad) writing rut lately. So I wanna shout out the person who gave me so many good ideas and an actual plot to work with. Y'all can thank just her for there actually being a part 2 cause there almost wasn't one 🙏 Thanks for helping, kisses for your big brilliant brain.

Hopefully, she and y'all like it? It's a bit longer. Let me know what you think, please, and thank you thank you so much for reading 💞

That being said, there will be a part 3 😄

"Split? Like down the middle?" Kate asks with a look of shock on her face. You walk in step beside her along the concrete path on campus.

"Right down the middle," you laugh and adjust the bag on your shoulder, thinking back to just a few days ago when Natashas skillful tongue worked its magic on your body. Your cheeks heat up at the memory.

That first night you met, Natasha had given you a kiss goodbye and gave you her number before you took a very drunk Kate Bishop home. Since then you had seen the redhead multiple times over the course of the last few weeks. Neither of you seemed to be able to keep your hands off of each other. Each time you met it was for sex, and even the time she had taken you to dinner it ended with you getting fucked into her mattress again.

You knew the basics about each other, where you lived, eachothers jobs... the more you thought about it the more it upset you. The physical level the two of you were on was heavenly, but really, well, you barely knew her.

Kates voice interrupts your thoughts as you enter the English building, and you stop walking as she does.

"What was that?" You ask, looking to the smirk plastered on her face with curiosity.

"I said, speak of the devil," she chuckles and nods her head in the direction of a very tall Natasha striding your way. "See you in there," Kate says and walks into the classroom, leaving you in the hallway.

You want to drown in the sight of her, wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt with old, dirty vans on her feet. You smile, trying not to drool at the way you can see the pops of color show from underneath her shirt or the way the sleeves seem too tight against her biceps as she grips the strap of her backpack.

"Hey there..." Natasha greets you with a smile, head pointing down as she stills before you. "Been a few days, haven't heard from you," she adds, her eyes baring into yours. You want to slap yourself for not replying to her text by the almost hurt look in her eyes.

"Well it hasn't even been a week, you miss me already?" You ask her with a little tilt of your head up at her, biting your lip as you see a blush spread across her cheeks. Her hand moves to the side of her neck, scratching at the ink awkwardly.

"No, no. Wait, I mean -" She lets out a sigh and shakes her head as you giggle at her. It was interesting, the difference in her appearance verses this nervous demeanor. "Maybe I did?" Natasha raises an eyebrow, the silver ring lifting higher.

"I might have missed you too," you shrug casually and watch as her face eases back into a smile. "I'm sorry I haven't texted, I've just been so busy with school and work." You point to the classroom next to you that Kate had entered. She follows the direction and nods.

"No worries, you're a busy lady. I actually took Mr. Furys class last year. Maybe I could take you for a coffee and give you some tips? Or maybe just um, talk?" Natasha asks, her tone quiet as she looks down to you.

You smile at the sincerity in her eyes. "I'm free after this class?" You take a step back, towards the room and match the wide smile on her lips.

"Sounds perfect," Natasha nods, and you can't ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest. Instead of taking another step away you walk forward, leaning up on your tip toes to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

Natasha can feel the burn on her cheeks, the affect you had on her drove her wild. You lean back and smile at her flustered state, leaving her alone in the now empty hallway.

An hour and a half later, you emerge from the classroom, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around at the sight of Natasha sitting on the floor. She had a book in her hand, closing it the moment she saw you and Kate walking towards her.

"Have you been sitting there this whole time?" You ask and tilt your head, watching the way her muscles flex as she runs a hand through her auburn hair.

"Uh, maybe?" A small blush hints on her cheeks, and she smiles at you and your friend. "I'm Natasha, by the way," she says and holds out her hand in front of Kate.

Kate chuckles at the formality, and you hit her arm, giving her a look. She shakes Natashas hand, "Kate... nice to finally meet you," She smiles back and looks next to her at you. "I'll see you tomorrow night, you should invite your friend."

You roll your eyes at Kates tease but nod and tell her you'll see her later.

"Coffee?" Natasha asks, and the ridiculous grin on her face is enough for you to agree to just about anything.

As you walk side by side, you can't help but admire her gentle personality. This woman, covered in tattoos and piercings with an intimidating gaze, was the complete opposite. She spoke to you about her schedule and that she was in school for sports medicine with a glint in her eyes.

"Like physical therapy?" You ask her curiously. You watched the way her face lit up at your interest, and she beamed down to you.

"Yeah, exactly that. If all else fails, I'll just be a personal trainer," she lets out a small chuckle, and you take the second she holds the door open for you to admire her toned body.

"How do I sign up? I need a good workout partner," you say with a flirtatious tone, brushing against her as you walk inside. You relish the blush on her cheeks and the small smirk on her lips as the smell of fresh coffee hits you.

"Didn't get a good enough workout last week?" Natasha replies.

"Oh, I had a great workout... but if I had a personal trainer, I'm sure I could get a good workout in at least a few times a week. Isn't that recommended?" You look up to her, seeing her neck redden and her eyes darken.

"I would definitely recommend that," Natasha mumbles as the two of you walk up to the counter.

As Natasha orders, you can't help but notice the change in her posture and attitude. Suddenly, she was standing straight, an impassive and series look on her face. Her tone was low as she talked to the woman at the counter. Natasha turns to you and nods for you to order. You do, and as she hands the woman her card, you smile up at her.

"Thank you for getting this for me," you say gratefully, watching her melt under your gaze. The smile was back, and her eyes came to life again. It seemed she had a soft spot for you.

"Of course, it's my treat," she says and walks you to a small table in the corner.

From there, you spend the entire rest of the evening actually talking and getting to know Natasha. As you already knew, she works out religiously, and you told her how lucky you felt that she had skipped her workout today just to sit down with you. She got her first tattoo at 18 and loved it, so she just never stopped getting them. The first piercing she got was on her eyebrow, and the same there, she just kept going.

It felt as if you were sitting in front of a whole new person than the one you met just weeks ago. The one who pile drived you into the mattress at a party and left you weak in the legs and sore the next day. Natasha was kind and sweet, funny, and surprisingly shy. Any time you made an attempt to flirt or give an innuendo, she would chuckle shyly and blush the slightest.

There were a few times you even had to squeeze your thighs as you thought back to that night. Any time her tongue would wet her lower lip or her eyes would travel to your neck. She loved your neck, you noticed. Every time you had hooked up her lips would go straight for the skin there, nipping at the few small freckles that adorned the area.

"That's a long time to be friends with someone," Natasha states as you finish telling her about yours and Kates relationship. Best friends since the fourth grade, completely inseparable.

"It's nice to have someone so close, who knows me so well. Especially since I'm an only child," you reply and watch her brow lift.

"Oh really? I have a sister, Yelena. She bugs the hell out of me, but I love her to death. She goes to the college just a couple of hours from here. Actually," Natasha looks at her phone, checking the time. "I'm supposed to meet her soon... she came home for the weekend."

You nod slowly and look around, realizing everyone had left and the two baristas were cleaning up. As the two of you stand, Natasha suddenly towering over at you, you feel a little disappointment in your chest. You were having more fun with her than you thought, and you found yourself not wanting to part.

"Hey, Kate and I are going to this bar tomorrow night. A few of our friends are getting together. Joes?" You say to her, smiling to yourself as she once again holds the door open for you.

"Yeah, I've been there a few times before," Natasha says with a grin, standing outside the coffee shop with you.

"If you want, maybe you and Yelena can meet us? You don't have to, of course, but..." You trail off.

"I will definitely be there. Text me a time?" She asks, and you nod happily. Natasha leans down, and you think for a second she's going to kiss you, but her lips land on the soft skin of your cheek. You put your hand on her arm as she does, feeling the tattooed skin burn underneath your touch.

****

Joes Bar is crowded, but that's to be expected on a Saturday night near a college campus. A local alternative band plays loudly on the small stage on one side of the room, and you find yourself on the opposite side sitting at the bar. Kate is nearby talking to friends and a few strangers, but you only had one person in mind.

You glance at your phone again, seeing no notifications. With a sigh, you finish your second drink, ordering a third as you contemplated the possibility she wasn't going to show up. This is why you didn't do this type of thing. You don't hook up with hot strangers. You don't get coffee with gorgeous, sweet women. You stayed to yourself, guarded your heart, and let yourself be safe from any type of rejection or heartbreak.

But God Natasha was worth breaking your rules.

You found your way back to reality as the bartender handed you a drink and said thank you before grabbing it and removing yourself from the bar stool. As you turn, you bump into someone, almost spilling your drink on them.

"Oh shit I'm so sorry!" You apologize, shaking the liquor off your hand as you had spilled a little on yourself.

"It's okay, I was just trying to squeeze in next to you," the woman says, and in your tipsy state, you raise an eyebrow. She seemed about your age, dirty blonde hair, and a familiar grin on her lips. You definitely hadn't seen her in here before.

"I was just getting up, actually. You can have my seat. Is that an accent I hear?" You ask curiously, moving out of the way so she could take your place.

"Yeah, I still have a bit of an accent, I was born in Russia. Lived there for a while," she says and nods. She then orders two drinks before turning back to you.

"Wow, you're a long way from there. You go to school here?" You ask her and sip your drink, feeling Kate stand behind you.

"No, but my sister does, though," the blonde smiles and grabs the two bottles of beer from the bartender. She looks at you and extends her arm towards Kate to hand her a bottle. You give her a confused look.

It's only then you realize, as an inked hand reaches over you to take the beer, that it's not Kate standing there, but Natasha. You turn instantly and look up, a habit your neck was quickly getting used to doing.

"Well, well, look who showed up," you say and take your bottom lip between your teeth. Natasha smiles at your words, noticing the way you take in her appearance.

If it was possible, Natasha looked hotter than ever. She wore a black t shirt underneath a leather jacket. Her flaming hair was behind her in a braid with a few loose strands framing her face.

"I see you've met my sister, Yelena," Natasha chuckles and nods in the direction of the blonde woman.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. Natty here hasn't been able to shut up abou-" Yelena is cut off by Natasha flicking the bottle cap at her face, a stern expression on the older woman's face.

You smile at the siblings' banter, watching Yelena laugh and shrug innocently. Whether it be the alcohol flowing in your bloodstream or the way Natasha looked at you, you slide your hand into hers. She tenses at first, not used to the public display of affection from you, but quickly relaxes as you intertwine your fingers with hers.

"Come on, come meet everyone," you say and tug on her hand in the direction of Kate.

You find them huddled around a pool table, watching as Kate lines up the pool tip to the cue ball with one eye closed. Carol stands leaning against her own stick, shaking her head and putting out the cigarette she smokes into the ashtray on the edge of the table.

"Anyday, Bishop..." Carol groans, earning a laugh from the group.

"Seriously, how long are you going to take?" Peter chimes in.

Kate ignores them and continues to stare intensely at the 8 ball. Her arm begins to pull back to take the shot, but as Yelena comes into focus on the opposite side of the table, Kate is finally distracted by the beautiful blonde. The cue ball misses her target completely, rolling across the table and sinking into the pocket.

"Scratch!" Carol cheers and high fives Monica. Kate looked up at Yelena, her lips parted as if she was going to speak, but no words came out. Carol then steps up to the table and sinks the 8 ball, ending the game with a dramatic bow.

You smile at the group, raising an eyebrow at the silent state of your best friend. "Guys, this is Natasha and her sister Yelena," you say, receiving waves and friendly greetings from everyone. You introduce them to the Romanoffs a little more before they rack up for another game.

"You any good?" Carol nods to Natasha, who gives a humble shrug.

"I'm decent," she replies with a smirk on her face as she brings the bottle to her lips. Carol hands the pool stick over before going to get drinks for the group.

"Hope you're good, Romanoff. We still haven't beat Y/N," Peter says begrudgingly. You only hum in response as Kate hands you her stick, positioning yourself across the table.

"Is that so?" Natasha watches with playful eyes as you skillfully break, the balls rolling in different directions along the table and a few of them sinking into the pockets.

When you lean up, you smile and reach your hand up to pat her cheek. "Good thing you didn't bet anything," you chuckle.

After a few back and forth turns, Carol returns with shots, to which you all cheer and take at the same time. The alcohol was definitely settling its way into your system now, and you were hot to the touch each time Natasha had to lean down to take her shot. Between the focused look on her face and the way the pool stick slid between her fingers, it was enough for you to want her right there.

You step forward next to her, looking at the direction of the shot she was trying to take. "That's a tough one, baby," you say to her, the term of endearment catching Natasha off guard.

Her body visibly tenses as she looks to you with a visceral reaction and swallows hard. You feign an innocent smile, taking a mental note to call her that again just to see her reaction. Natasha misses the shot and curses under her breath.

"That's not fair," she says and shakes her head as she stands tall. The red head removes her jacket, finding that the room was getting hotter.

You shrug and easily pocket two more balls on your turn. When you look to Kate to make a comment about the shot, you realize she's strayed from the group, chatting up Yelena. With your friends being in their own worlds at the moment, you decide to have a little fun with Natasha.

"You're not so bad, you know. The others have a hard time keeping up with me," you smile as she leans down, and your hand rests on her back, rubbing over her shirt.

"Y/n," Natasha mumbles, the blush on her cheeks evident she enjoyed your touch.

"Yes, Nat?" You pur, watching the muscles flex understand the fabric. Knowing you had this type of effect on her gave you a sense of power that only made you hungry for more. Your hand slithers underneath the bottom of her shirt, nails scratching at her back. She misses. You smile.

"You're a cheater, you know that?" Natasha says in a playful tone, her body naturally leaning towards you.

Your hands rest on her stomach, "I don't know what you're talking about." You lean up and plant a soft kiss on her lips, smirking as she leans down and melts against your mouth. "I'm just having fun," you whisper.

At that, you step away from her, crossing over to the opposite side of the table. You lean down more than you need to, and you don't miss the way Natashas eyes dart back and forth from your breasts to your neck. She finishes another bottle, and you can tell you've stressed her out by the way her hand grips the glass.

You continue to do the same thing for the remainder of the game, teasing her with every shot she took and making sure to bend in front of her any chance you could. It came down to the 8 ball, and you had to admit, you were dragging the game on longer than you needed to.

"Last one," you sigh and put your hand on the back of her neck as she leans down. Your fingers squeeze gently as she clears her throat, trying to ignore the shivers that run down her spine every time you touch her. You lean down with her, your lips brushing against her ear. "Good luck, baby," you whisper and kiss her cheek.

Her neck gets red at your words, and her grip on the stick only tightens. You think it'll snap in half with how hard she holds it. Natasha quickly shoots and misses, causing you to raise an eyebrow with just how quick she took the shot. Instead of stepping back, she continues to stand pressed against the table. "All yours," she mumbles and holds her hand out to the table, shifting uncomfortably as she stands.

You line up the shot and sink the black ball easily, looking up at her with a wide smile. She only gives you a small smile back with a nod. "Aren't you going to give me a victory kiss?" You ask as you step back to her.

Natasha hesitates for a moment but finally turns to face you. Your hands move up to wrap around her neck, your body pressing against her front as she leans in. Before your lips can touch your eyes, widen the slightest. You now realize the reason for the sudden uncomfortable physical shift she had taken when you felt her bulge pressing hard against you.

"Oh... was I teasing you too much?" You ask with a smirk on your lips. She rolls her eyes and moves to pull away, but you don't let her. "What was it?" You ask her.

"What was what?" She replies, her hands moving to your waist. You press your body further into her and relish the hiss that leaves her mouth.

You search her eyes, thinking to the moment her demeanor had changed. Suddenly, there was that power-hungry feeling again when you realized the reasoning. The fact that you could get her hot and bothered by a simple word leaving your lips, by your voice alone, and the thought of you driving someone like her mad. Natasha was weak in the knees for you, and she struggled internally with the way you made her feel. She wasn't used to it.

"Why don't you let me help you take care of your little problem... baby, " you whisper to her, feeling her shoulders tense above you. "Come on." You slide back and take her hand in yours, leading her away from the pool table and towards the bathroom.

As soon as both of you are inside and you lock the door, the two of you are on top of each other just like the first night you met her. Natasha kisses you feverishly, like she'd never been kissed before, with your back hard against the door. You welcomed her tongue into your mouth, moaning as the two halves wrap around your own.

With one hand, you hold onto the front of her shirt, gripping tightly, with the other you slide it in between your bodies, letting yourself grope the hard bulge in her jeans. Natasha lets a hint of a whimper leave her lips, one you hadn't heard since the first time with her, and you smirk into the kiss.

"What's the matter, baby? Do you need some help?" You ask innocently, lips ghosting hers. She breathes heavily and nods as your hands move to undo her belt.

"Sweetheart... please," she says, and you decide in that moment that you need her to say that again. Just the idea that this strong, formidable woman could so easily melt in your presence made you thrilled.

Her hands rest on either side above your head, pressed flat against the door as you slide her pants down. You can see the precum dampening a spot on her underwear, and you feel yourself get wet at the sight of it. She needed you, bad.

"Please, what?" You ask, your hand moves to grab her through her boxers, and you stroke her length through the thin fabric.

"Fu-fuck," she barely breathes out, eyes searching yours. Natasha hadn't begged a day in her life, but she would happily beg for you. She was at the point right now that she was willing to get down on her knees and beg for you. You made her desperate.

"Please touch me, please. You feel how hard I am for you? Just -" You squeezing a little harder makes her gasp before continuing. "I need you to touch me. Please, sweetheart... please, " she begs. You smile at her words, enjoying the way her body melts at your touch and the way she begs for you.

At her words you slide down her boxers, and her cock twitches at the feeling of finally being released. She lets out a sigh of relief as your delicate fingers wrap around her. "Is this what you wanted?" You hum, beginning to move your hand up and down. Natasha nods, chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly at your movements.

When you stop, she looks at you with a disoriented look, eyebrows lifting as she watches you drop to your knees. You take her cock in your hand, letting your other rest on her thick, toned thigh. From here you can see her happy trail peaking from underneath her shirt, making your panties wetter. The way she looks down at you with a breathless expression and parted lips makes you want to live your life on your knees for her. Your lips kiss along the side of her length, teasing slowly with your tongue licking up it. Natasha groans with pleasure at the feeling and her hips instinctively buck towards you.

You give in, not wanting to tease her anymore tonight, and take her cock into your mouth. The moan that leaves her mouth is outright sinful, and her fist hits the door with a thud as you begin to bob your head. Your cheeks hollow out when you begin moving faster, taking as much of her as you could. When the tip hits the back of your throat your eyes sting, tears threatening to leave your ducts. Natasha pants heavily above you, savoring the moment of you on your knees for her, sucking her off.

"Look at you, such a pretty girl with my cock in your mouth- fuck," Natasha speaks low to you, her eyes dark as she watches her cock disappear against your lips. Your fingers on her thigh dig in, your nails digging into her skin to leave crescent shaped marks, at her words. "All night you've been teasing me... this is the only way to shut you up, isn't it?" She says and you moan against her, the vibrations sending her close to the edge.

Her breathing gets heavier and you can tell she's about to cum, but before she can you quickly remove your mouth, your saliva coating her as you release with a pop. You stand, not ignoring the frustrated look on her face.

"Baby, I think you're confused," you say, your hands moving to the top of your dress. "You're not in charge right now," You let out a small laugh and pull down on the fabric, letting your breasts spill out. Natashas face reddens in response, and she immediately moves to kiss your chest. You can feel the marks she leaves as her lips trail across your breasts, her skillful tongue pleasuring your sensitive nipples.

Natashas' large hands move to the bottom of your dress as her kisses begin to litter up your neck. You let her move the material above and over your hips, but stop her as she reaches your panties. "I wanna hear you," you mumble out. She lets out a huff and pulls away from your neck.

"Y/n... please." Natasha says. You only continue to look at her with innocent eyes. The fact that she would beg for you - is begging for you, made you feel instant gratification.

"Please, pretty girl? Please let me make you feel good. I want to fuck you, want to make you feel good so bad..." She begs, and you let her slide your panties down your legs. Natasha slides her tip between your closed thighs, her cock now being coated from the wetness that spread between your legs.

She slips in between your folds, waiting for your words. Her fingers dig into your hips. "You drive me so fucking insane," Natasha whispers as her head ducks to your neck again. "I could cum from just looking at you. Just hearing you say my name. You know how much control you have over me?" Her hips continue rocking against you, your thighs squeezing her hard cock. She begins to pant again, her neck red and hot to the touch as you wrap your arms around it, interlocking your fingers behind her head.

"Please," Natasha whimpers, and the sound is enough to make you moan. You needed to feel her inside you immediately, hear more of those moans leave her lips.

"Show me how bad you want me, how insane I make you feel," you finally say and lean forward to bite her lower lip. She wastes no time lifting you up, helping you wrap your legs around her hips. Your back presses against the door again and with one hand she guides her cock inside of your warm velvet walls, easily ,with how wet you were for her.

Natasha begins to thrust up into you, a feeling you had become accustomed to these past few weeks, although you weren't sure you'd ever get used to her size. She groans against your chest, nipping at the skin. The small bathroom fills with the sounds of her pounding into you, both of you moaning practically in sync with every thrust.

"So good, pretty girl, feel so good wrapped around my cock. I love fucking this pretty pussy," she breathes heavy against your skin as she speaks. You hold on tightly to her, only breathless moans escape your lips in response.

Suddenly, from the outside, someone bangs on the door, Natasha doesn't halt her descent on you. "Can you hurry the fuck up in there?" A stranger yells from the other side. Your eyes widen, a little bit of adrenaline rushing into your chest as she continues fucking into you.

Natasha smiles, now at your flustered state. "Occupied," is all she replies before her thrust picks up the pace. "You better keep quiet, sweetheart. You don't want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me, letting me fuck you in the bathroom."

You squeeze your eyes closed as she fucks herself into you, trying your best to keep quiet. Each thrust was now hitting that special spot inside of you and drawing you closer to an orgasm. The feeling of her muscles flexing around you only intensified that feeling.

"Fuck I-I can't I'm-" Natasha stutters out as she groans into your neck, feeling your hot cunt tighten around her cock.

"Me too, Nat," you moan along with her, and your legs squeeze around her waist. "Let go, baby... wanna feel you fill me up." You watch her face twist in pleasure at your words, and the fact that it was enough to make her cum only added to your ego in the moment. Natasha grunts against your skin as she does just what you say, filling you up completely.

The sensation alone is enough to make you follow right behind her, the burn in your lower stomach blazing as you scream out her name.

"That's it, sweetheart, that's it... such a good girl for me," she coos as you fall apart in her arms, kissing your face as you breathe heavily. Your head falls against her shoulder, face panting in the crook of her neck as she holds you tightly, letting you come down off your high.

After a few moments she pulls out slowly, and you can feel the mixture of both your arousal dripping down your thighs. Natasha carries you to the sink, letting you rest on the hard surface while she pulls her pants back up and you fix the top of your dress.

"Hi," she says with a smile. You giggle, remembering she said the same thing afterward on the first night at her party.

"Hi," is all you reply, grabbing her shirt in your hand and pulling her closer to kiss you again.

****

"They have eight legs and eight eyes. How are they not scary?" Peter drunkenly speaks to Monica, who sits next to him with an amused look.

After your time in the bathroom with Natasha, the two of you had rejoined the group, and over the course of two hours, you had become increasingly wasted with the rest of your friends. As Yelena joined in on the topic of spiders, you feel Natasha rest her head back against your front.

She sat slouched back in one of the chairs that scattered near the table while you stood behind her, hands stroking her neck and massaging her shoulders. You can't help but smile down at her.

"You're so cute," you giggle and watch her brow raise. Your finger traces the dark lines on her neck.

"Anything but cute," Natasha groans, with a playful smirk on her face. "Why do you say that?"

"You're different than you look, you know? Why are you so nervous around me?" Your words slur, and she chuckles at your drunken state with a shrug, looking at the beer bottle she held in her hand.

"Must be the alcohol?" She says. You shake your head and poke her nose.

"You were drinking when I first met you, and you weren't like this," you point out and watch her swallow. You decide to move in front of her, settling yourself between her muscled thighs. As you stand in front of her, she sits up straighter, the two of you now practically the same height.

You take her hand in yours, playing with her fingers. She smiles a little as she looks at your intertwined hands.

"Maybe I was drinking that night to get enough courage to talk to you... and maybe I- maybe I'm drinking tonight to get enough courage to say I want more with you. More than... the hookups," she says and finally looks back up at you. Your heart races in your chest at her words, panic written on your face as you freeze in front of her.

That was exactly what you wanted. More of her, more of this beautiful person who was even more beautiful inside. To get to know what makes her really tick, what makes her happy, how her day was, how she likes her coffee. She wanted more, too, so why were you not speaking out loud?

"What?" Is all that comes out of your mouth.

Natashas face falls completely, misinterpreting your flustered state for a sign of rejection. She had hoped this wouldn't happen. Part of her wondered if this had just been a hook up, but the other part of her desperately hoped it wasn't.

Before the words could leave your parted lips, Kate calls over to you, taking the attention of both you and Natasha.

"Y/N, you ready to go? You can stay if you want, I'm gonna take Pete home, though," she nods to the direction of where he sat drunk rambling to Yelena.

"No, not -"

"Actually, Yelena and I have a lot to do tomorrow. We should head out too," Natasha interrupts you and stands, her hand moving to your lower back as you stare up at her with a pout.

"Are you sure?" You ask her, your hand reaching out to her side. She tenses under your grasp.

"Yeah, I'll text you later," She smiles at you, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes this time.

You nod anyways and smile back, leaning up to kiss her lips softly. "Thank you for tonight.. Hopefully, we can do it again soon?"

And while you were talking about hanging out with her, Natasha assumes you were talking about her fucking you.

"Yeah, soon," she lets out a breath and grabs her jacket, not taking a second look back at you as her and Yelena exit the bar.

***

A smile fills your face as your head hits the pillow, the soft comforter pulled over you as you lie on your warm bed and mull over tonights events. You wondered why Natasha had left in such a hurry before you could say anything, but you decided not to think too hard on it. She probably did have to go. It was early in the morning by the time you left, and besides, you would hear from her later.

Every morning, she texted you a quick and sweet text, telling you to have a good day.

Your chest swelled at the thought of it, how sweet it was that such a small, simple thing could brighten your entire day. What you assumed would happen tomorrow is that the two of you would talk about wanting more and how desperately you agreed with her about it.

But when the late morning came and the sunshine streamed through the windows, no text came with it.

[chimchiri]

Help why is Rarity me 😭She's so me, I was dating sweet and funny guys but secretly super into the buff wrestler build men and is in line with my realization that my attraction to hunks also extended to women. I was at an amusement park and struggled with the lowering the bar at the roller coaster so this hunky female attendant pushed it down for me so easily, forearm so firm, smelled so nice and gave a dimpled smile and I couldn't think about anything else the whole day

When the hot and nice smelling cowboy lady working at the roller coaster makes you question your entire life

(Very cute story, anon! I'm sure Rarity and many more women could relate!)

[pigfacedbitch]

Dating Hort of Bloodbrook

summary : general headcanons of dating Hort while being the princess of Camelot.

word count : 0.7k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Hort x Reader, Sibling! Tedros x Reader

warning/s : discrimination against Nevers and Evers.

here is my masterlist!

Note : I know this is late but this has been on my unfinished works since the movie came out. I fell in love with Hort, he is so cute and loyal to Sophie 🥹. I haven't read the books but I might soon when I need to escape reality again.

You will likely be a year younger than Tedros.

Because of the heir and the spare™.

I know it sounds bad but some rulers actually do those.

Tedros is extremely overprotective over you, especially when Queen Guinevere ran away with Lancelot and King Arthur died.

He's like the typical older brother you see in movies; handsome, buff, (kind off) a meathead, and annoys you to know end.

Will also be the first one to come to your defense.

When you got to the School of Good, you were determined to destroy the image of being Tedros' little sister.

Which results to you preferring to be a hero in your own story than being a queen in someone else's.

As expected, you quickly became friends with Agatha.

Not afraid to stand up to those who think girls are inferior to boys.

While the other Evers found the Nevers horrible for being future villains, you have a neutral perspective towards them.

After all, the School of Good has many stuck up and vain students.

Meeting Hort was definitely a memory to remember. It was when Professor Dovey took the first years to the Wish Fish (Let's pretend Agatha didn't free them).

When you put your hand on the water and begin to think of a wish, you didn't feel the water swirling like Agatha told you she experienced,

Instead, it was hand that intertwines its finger with yours.

And it harshly pulled you down the water.

The girls' screams and the professor calling out your name in panic caught the boys and Tedros' attention, running to the 'rescue'.

Under the water, you see someone smiling at you, or at least that's what you hopes he's doing.

A Never named Hort, son of Captain Hook.

Tedros immediately pulled you out of the water, with Hort in tow.

The angry professor commands the nearby guards to bring him back to the School of Evil and how Lady Lesso will surely punish him.

"It seems like I'm your wish, my lady."

He expects you to be disgusted like the other Evers. To his surprise, you give him the sweetest smile he has ever seen in his life.

"That you are, Hort of Bloodbrook."

To say Hort is surprised was an understatement.

You didn't only smile at him but also knew his name.

Cupid's arrow struck him at that moment. His villainous smirk drops, staring at you with wide eyes as much as he could before they were out of sight.

Tedros, who saw the whole thing, was not pleased and gave you a warning on how Nevers can't be trusted.

After your encounter, Hort seeks you out more.

You didn't mind, he is an odd yet funny companion.

He also doesn't care for one's physical appearance like the girls do or how you're nothing but a pretty face with a royal title like most guys think.

He encourages you to be yourself, like Agatha does.

You two would get judgmental looks from both sides.

Sophie was pissed, not only because Hort was losing interest in her but being the princess of Camelot is everything she wants to be.

So is Tedros. And everyone else who sees you together.

Agatha is just worried and would remind you to keep your guard up.

But you enjoy each other's company, that's what matters.

Hort was in love with you the moment you met but it took you a longer time to realize your feelings for him.

You only told Agatha about it but Tedros overheard.

Believe me when I say that Tedros will demand you to be examined.

"She's not under any spells, my prince."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh my God, I love Hort and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Everyone in the hall heard you.

Silence before a giddy howl ensues.

Hort runs to you and gives the biggest hug you could ever receive.

Despite being initially embarrassed, you returned it.

Before he could kiss you like he always dreamed of, Tedros stops him.

He pulls out Excalibur and points its tip on Hort's neck. Your brother will mercilessly give the poor boy threats if he broke your heart or hurt you in any way. Agatha joined in without words, just sending a warning glare on his way.

Hort would be lowkey terrified but so happy at the same time.

I mean you love him back. He could take a fucking army if you command him to.

Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey would only look at each other in disbelief, worried for what happens next.

[megalomaniacz]

💸 CLOUD 9 ☁️

synopsis: the start of a night with a well known patron at club euphoria.

content: sexual content!

author’s note: this is shit isn’t it? it’s okay you can tell me. okay so i tried to write this like three different times i kid you not and each time it just ended up being pwp so lemme know if you want the part two! sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger i just love making people beg for more <3

tonight was a very special night at euphoria. there was a distinguished guest among others in the crowd and you wanted to show them a very good time.

ellie williams, a well known entertainer, dealer, and jack of all trades had decided to make an appearance. she had a stash of what could only be described as heaven and, like an angel, wanted to bless the patrons with her gift.

and she was welcomed with open arms. everything she gave them got them (and their pockets) loose. you were even more ecstatic to hear she’d booked a private session with you and your best friend dina.

the moment you layed eyes on her you were mesmerized. nervously letting your gaze wonder down to her suit pockets, stuffed with money. god, cash was so fucking sexy.

she of-course gets the best vip room you have. she was a big tipper, after all. she pays your very buff and stoic guard abby, then you and dina escort her to the room. a very large bed with black satin sheets was in the middle. she took a seat, unbuckling her belt.

on instinct, you and dina lower yourselves before her. hands caressing the fabric of her soft suit pants. a smile finds itself on her lips as she watches you.

“why don’t you two help me with the rest, mm?”

dina pulls her pants down painfully slowly while you unbutton her dress shirt with one hand. your other hand is occupied with her tie, tugging at it until it loosens.

“you ladies are incredible, you know that?” her eyes travel between the two of you.

“thank you.” you respond in unison. she lets out a laugh, then gestures for the two of you to join her on the bed. you on her right and dina on her left.

she smells incredible, like an expensive fragrance you can’t name. her wrists are flashy with watches and bracelets that probably cost all your bills times twelve. you were happy she didn’t take them off, they were getting you drenched. ellie places a sweet kiss on your cheek and her voice is low as she whispers into the air. “you both are so pretty and so sweet. i could just eat you up.”

that was more of a promise. ellie watches as you and dina share a sweet kiss while she pulls her boxers down to reveal her strap. she spits on it, hand palming at it to spread the liquid. then, she looks at the two of you.

“so, which one of you pretty ladies wants to sit on my face? and which one wants to ride me?”

[razorblade180]

Tough Choices

Caelus:*looks left*

March:🥺

Caelus:*looks right*

Stelle:🥺

Caelus:….Since when does this fall to me?

March:Caelus! Look at me! *shakes him* She’s so close! She’s right over there!

Robin:*sitting pretty*

Stelle:Don’t look at her! Look at who matters!

Firefly:* also sitting pretty*

March:What happened to not liking Stellaron Hunters!?

Stelle:Shit happens!

March:Well I’ve been consistent! I am a fan and I’d really like to hangout with my favorite idol regularly!

Stelle:Caelus, we can literally stop one heart from breaking.

March:GUESS WHO SUNG THAT!?

Stelle:GUESS WHO LIVES THAT!?

Caelus:(Is this why Welt gave me the bag of jades?) Maybe we should revisit this?

MS: No.

Caelus:Oh…

March:Listen…I consider myself a respectable lady with pride. Caelus… you know that dress you like?

Caelus:Have you no shame!

March:Not today. I’m just showing my resolve! It’s not this is anything new between us. Remember last month?

Stelle:Are you…bribing him with the birthday present you wanted?

March:…* smiles sheepishly* Okay, you got me there.

Stelle:If we’re going this low then I’m going to hell. Caelus, Firefly totally likes you as much as she likes me. Also, you may of noticed that she has two hands. What a coincidence! One for each of us!

Caelus:You bring up interesting points…

Stelle:Why are you acting like you don’t want to see her here!?

Caelus:I’m acting like the crew member in charge of our funds! Look, if we get a little lucky and go hard with our duties, we’ll have enough for both. We even have a bit of bonus funds.

March:*red* You could’ve said that before my proposition!

Caelus:I kinda wanted to see how deep this well goes. Also, both of you disappoint me. I take food bribes before anything else. *crosses arms* I have my morals.

Stelle:Topaz smiled at you and she got in.

Caelus:Let that go~ it paid off in the end.

Topaz:*on the couch* Imagine my E1 hehe.

MS: *intense stare*

Topaz:It was a joke! Relax!

Caelus:Okay. Problem solved. Let’s all find peace again.

The loud sound of a creaking door turns everyone’s head.

Fu Xuan:….

Everyone:…..

Fu Xuan:Have you lost sight of your original agenda? The path you set out on?

Caelus:Listen-

Fu Xuan:A single step away from genuine, premium Mono Quantum. You lot have Bronya…

March:But-

Fu Xuan:Ruan Mei…

Caelus:That’s-

Fu Xuan: And Sparkle! All the harmony in the world won’t buff a corpse! You. Need. Protection. I’ve seen how Gepard coughs up blood every battle, and that blonde gambler can’t be in two places at once. Do I even need to bring up the fact certain individuals decide to bruise like bananas!? *turns head*

Qingque:*whistles in guilt*

Silver Wolf: It’s not my fault they know I’m a threat.

Fu Xuan:My sorry excuse for a worker also is threading the needle with 70% rate. As usual I will pick up her slack and keep others healthy. Caelus, be smart.

Caelus:…Screw it. Y’know what? We will gamble the funds. Robin gets one shot to show up and if it fails then onto Fu Xuan. If Robin arrives then Fu Fu gets the one shot. No second chances!

Everyone:What!?

Firefly:(Thank goodness I’m going last. They’ll probably have more funds by the time I arrive.)

Caelus:This is my decision! All or nothing!

xxxxxx

Aventurine: *walking in nothingness* ……. Why do I feel so proud all of a sudden?

[short-black-diamond]

{His woman.}

This is just a fantasy! AU, with princess x servant/bodyguard (?), reader is a badass lady and the servant is head over heels for her. also, have fun reading!

also, I tried to make this as poc! friendly as possible. I have written some parts about hair, but I don't mean it in a bad/racist way. I'm not black, but in this story, you just have problems with your hair like I do, so I literally just inserted myself there. I just made it so other people could maybe relate to my problems too :)

Warnings: suggestive content, Your bodyguard masturbates to you behind closed doors in detail, angst-father issues/trauma/no love (at first, maybe a part two? 👀👀👀), near death experience-but not you

this is more like a story, so buckle up babes! Also, I think I'll make more parts of these, but tell me if you like it!

---

I have plenty of weird but also pretty romantic dreams, and in this one, I was some sort of princess who had to choose a husband because of being the next queen and only child and no brother and bla bla bla.

BUT. I also had some sort of, I dunno, servant? Well, someone who always watched me/my back like some sort of bodyguard. The thing was, he was pretty hot. Freckles which adored and accentuated the cheeks, neck, shoulders (+ other body parts 😏), glasses in front of tired, serious eyes, long/dark brown thick/curly locks that were always in a low pony tail and forehead fringes that gave the guy a cute but also at the same time hot look, big nose, broad shoulders, tall, muscular body (but not too buff), nice arms, veiny hands and pretty much everything that would make a woman wet swoon.

Also, the voice was to die for. Do you know professor cal? (I know him from youtube). Yeah, I had his voice in my head as the guard and let me tell you guys, I wanted that guy to become real.

Also, let's call him...Cal, okay? because of professor cal's voice, alright? and his nickname or real name will be Lasco, so when you are alone with him, you call him cal! And you're the only one who's allowed to call him that.

But that's not- okay wait that was mainly the fucking introduction of the guy of my dreams, now let me start with the introduction of the story.

---

"Your majesty, you can't just reject a man blindly-", a nameless maid said, but was interrupted by your soft glare. "And why can't I?", you asked gently, looking at her with an almost pleading look. you wanted to know the answer as well.

Your poor excuse of a brutish father and shitty leader of your country wanted you to be married to an unimportant country. The son from the country was a playboy, treated women like objects, didn't know what sharing meant, stepped and spit on other people and wasn't really interested in you, more attracted to your body.

your mother was a softspoken woman, but since women were still not respected in the monarchy, you wanted to change that. you hated that your mother couldn't stand up for herself. you hated that she got belittled whenever you were around, and you feared that it was much worse when you weren't.

One day, however, it all stopped. and you were the reason.

"Why should I marry him again?", you asked the man who was one of the reasons you came to this world. you hated to call him that.

Father.

ugh.

your 'father' gave you a glare which you reciprocated tenfold, making the geezer sitting in front of you scratch his neck nervously.

"Well, because... because I said so!" "And what use would that bring to our kingdom?"

"How dare you-" "Your highness. please tell me. Why am I going to be betrothed to a man whom I have no information over and who doesn't even seem interested in wanting to get to know me? What use would our marriage have?", you retorted quickly, eyeing the guest to your 'father's' left. His son was right next to him, glaring at you angrily. your mother only looked at you with a shocked expression before standing up to apologize-

"Don't, mother. You have no reason to do that.", you only said coldly while holding a hand towards her direction, awaiting a plausible explanation from the bastard sitting next to your king.

"Listen, me and your father are good friends, and we decided that it'd be a good idea if-"

"So you have no use for the country but just want us to get married to each other because you guys are friends? Or because your whore of a son can't seem to stop getting his dick wet and because I have never touched a man? If that's the reason, THEN YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF!!!", you screamed, pulling your golden sword from it's home-your earrings-and pointed it towards the bastard.

That seemed to be the thing they were not prepared for, because the king from the other country and his son scrambled away while your 'father' was getting angry at you. But, oh boy.

How was the saying again? Like father, like daughter?

If his anger was already bad enough that most people from his own country feared him because of his temper, how would the other countries try to calm yours?

"YOU INSOLENT CHILD! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DO AS YOU'RE TOLD?! DAY AND NIGHT AM I WORKING-"

"WORKING?! DON'T GIVE ME THAT! WHAT YOU CALL 'WORKING', IS JUST FUCKING OTHER BITCHES, LOOSING YOUR MONEY FROM GAMBLING AND GIVING ALL YOUR DUTIES TO THE POOR SERVANTS!

YOU ARE NO WHERE TO BE CALLED A KING, A LORD OR EVEN A LEADER! YOU'RE NOT EVEN A GOOD FATHER!", you roared, your voice booming louder in the castle than his ever could, grabbing the attention of all the residents of your own, soon to be castle.

your golden sword pointed towards him, and while nearly every servant and some guards gathered together to know what this family fuss was about again, they were shocked and surprised to see that you were pointing your sword at him.

sure, you had arguments and fights with that old geezer, but nothing ever was as serious as this. "You put-" "YOU LISTEN TO ME, YOU POOR EXCUSE OF A MAN, I am done with you humiliating our name, or kingdom, our country. do that you get the hell away from here, with all your fucking concubines and mistresses. and don't you ever show your face in here, or my country again. because if you do...

... then I'll find you and behead you myself."

All he could do was run, run as fast as he could, and while he was still at it, his concubines and bad partners, gambling friends, drinking friends and other bad people he liked to associate with, followed him as well while taking all their belongings, which surprisingly, wasn't less than you imagined.

After the last one was gone, your mother only whispered your name and you immediately threw yourself to the ground in shame in front of your mother. "I beg for forgiveness. Please forgive me for my big mouth and sharp tongue, mother. please don't be mad at me-"

"Mad at you? Oh, my sweet daughter, how could I ever be mad at you?", she asked, opening her arms with tears eyes and a wobbly smile. You ran towards her but held her as gently as you could, like a flower. "I fear that I do not onderstand, mother. Why are you not mad? I put shame on your name for rejecting a noble's proposal...!"

Your mother only chuckled, happy to hold her one reason to stay alive in her arms. She was also glad that everyone saw that her and her daughter were so close and that the rumours about the daughter and the mother hating each other would come to an end. "That's exactly why I am so proud of you, my love. you have mastered what I couldn't and still can not do today; express myself, voice out my uncomfy state, give my opinion...being loud. Being heard. Being understood."

You stroked your mother's back like a mother consoling her child. your mother's nerves were always on haywire when your father was around, and it was tearing your heart apart to see your mother so scared in the presence of that former bastard of a leader.

"I will try my best to help you mother. After all, you are leading this kingdom on your own now. But fear not, I will stay by your side until death will tear us apart. But even then, I will not rest in peace until I have found your soul next to mine and we can be together again, even after we've descended to heaven.", you promised. She only hugged you tighter and released a breath.

Lasco, your bodyguard, who has witnessed your great performance of strength and anger, only watched you in awe, a small blush on his cheeks. See, as you were the crown princess, the next queen and he was your guard, he had to look after you ever since he could remember. he was also your best friend and you and him did pretty much everything together.

Except...

...love.

...

It was actually not fair, to be honest. Cal had a crush on you since the first time he saw you, which was when him and you were children; even when you were chubby, had snot coming out of your nose, and always chaos-hair. what drew him to you was your calm nature. He thought of you like a flower when he first met you. Never bothering anyone. always in your own little world. You never yelled, or got really angry or made a fuss out of everything. Only when something really bothered you, did you frown, pout, and release a small and quiet 'hmpf!' sound, which he cherished forever by grabbing at his chest where his heart belonged whenever you did it.

He also found you really cute. your eyes were so adorably wide and full of wonder, wanting to explore the world with silent pleading. But since it was forbidden, you examined books, maps and even listened to adventurers and businessmen and women who sailed the world like your life depended on it.

Your hair seemed to have a mind of it's own, as it was either perfectly calm, a few strands of hair not wanting to go to their place or your hair pointing to all directions. your personality was also to respect, or gush over.

You were always a calm kid, never dared to trouble your parents, always good with everyone. you tried your best to help everyone and do your homework or train your body to fit into a queen's life. you tried to take as much off of your mother's chest and shoulders as you could, with no regard of self care.

you, with those beautiful eyes, that changed over the years.

Your body, that changed over the years.

Your mind changed too.

But it scared him.

Sure, you've gotten a lot smarter and even more helpful than you already were. you blossomed from a small, sweet, shy, friendly, peace-loving girl to a poisonous, beautifully, deathly and ruthless woman. But Cal was not even close to the mind to complain.

I mean, you've grown up, and so has he. It was just...to him, time flew by so quickly. One moment, he was protecting you from other baby princes from bullying you because of your shy nature, then you and him talked about serious topics like future and love in your teenage years, where he nearly gave out his secret of having a crush on you, and now, you had to choose a husband, rule the kingdom alongside your mother, and forbid war, even when your kingdom was one of the strongest out there.

Cal has fallen for you. And...so have you.

You fell for him the moment he gave you the promise that he'd always protect you. It was when you two were still children. He was eight and you were five at the time, but you could not mistake your warming cheeks and fluttering stomach for anything else but love towards that boy. the first few weeks, you hid from him, spoke as little as possible with him and never looked him in the eyes.

You were wondering every night if Cal knew about how you gave him heart eyes everytime you two locked eyes. or if he maybe thought of you as a pretty girl...? Or if he thought of you as a nuisance, because you thought that you'd be one to him, being a princess and all. Since you had trouble forming big sentences and tended to be shy by nature, even as a grown up, you only gave him commands, asked about his wellbeings, or nodded when he gave you an update about something.

The more days passed, the more you strived to be perfect. Not just for the people you'd have to rule over one day, or your mother, but for him. you wanted to show him that you could become the perfect leader. That you'd become a great queen. You took more care to your body when Cal made some remarks about how skin care was less appreciated these days. your hair seemed to follow your lead too, because over the years, you managed to take proper care of it.

you took more care in the way you dressed, acted, spoke and most importantly, your face. you always frowned, naturally, and you hated it. You hated when people asked you why you were looking so sad or glum or depressed or angry, and you were left irritated. so you always raised your brows to give your face not an irritated, but bored look. Better than nothing, right?

whenever you looked at Cal, you didn't see your bodyguard, but a potential lover. He was always good with kids, treated women with the utmost respect, was one of the strongest men in your kingdom and very handsome.

However, there was one information that shattered your little love world and heart yes and daydreams about Cal; you had to marry a prince. Bodyguards were not allowed as potential husbands, except for when you'd like to have a consort or lover.

You, from that moment on, forbid your feelings towards your longest friend and buried them into the darkest corners of your heart, soul, and mind. and over the months, you managed to hold proper conversations with him, plus, you didn't see him as husband material anymore.

Or so you thought.

...

NSFW:

As you were busy with making new rules, comforting your mother and firing your father's followers, Cal thought that you didn't have any use for him at the moment, which was good.

As fast as he could, he excused himself with a silver plate in front of his crotch and went straight to his room. Beforehand, he made sure that no one was in the hallway, so that they couldn't hear him doing his unholy, and unforgivable act. In his chamber, he whimpered into his hand and his other one grabbed his hard-on. His glasses went down a little, but not that he cared. Lasco moaned into his hand as he slid against the door a little, panting at the thought of you.

You, who so bravely told your father to fuck out of your life with a blade at the bastards throat which you took from your earrings. you, who always was so...cold, but at the same time so unbelievably hot at the same time. His princess, who didn't want any nameless, stupid prince. Cal didn't know what type of prince you'd like. What type of husband would meet your standards. Maybe the fictional characters you've been sighing about with a sweet smile and gazing off with a blissed out face?

C-could he call you... his princess? Could he call you...his girl?

...His woman?

At that thought, Lasco stumbled towards his bed, throwing his belt and pants to the ground before stripping off his underwear and grasping his leaking cock. It may look small in his hands, but if you saw it, you'd be really scared of it's size and girth. Much over average, about 9 and a half inches, and his girth around the width of your wrist. His mushroom head was adorably flushed a light pink, with freckles adorning his shaft and inner thighs- actually his whole body to be honest.

He pumped it a few times, abs already glistening with sweat, whimpering in a high pitched voice again, brows furrowing and shoulders shaking, his nipples growing hard at the cool air of his room, forgetting that he'd get overly sensitive when he got hard because of you. He whined when he immediately had a flashback of him following after you for safety reasons and you suddenly halting in front of him and him stumbling on you, his hips - and so his dick - brushing against your soft, plump ass. When you turned to apologize, there was only a gust of whind in form of his silhouette.

He rubbed his head a little harder, and choked back a sob. His glasses nearly fell off, but he adjusted them while his left hand shook from touching himself. he faced the door this time, his brows furrowing, as he stroked his shaft, the foreskin covering and uncovering his cockhead evertime he moved his hand up and down.

What if somebody came in? How would he explain himself?

Lasco massaged his balls gently, groaning before chuckling breathily, growing shy as he thought of you again with a cute -about to be fucked out- smile on his face.

What if you came in and caught him in this state? How would you react? What would you say? Would you get aroused too? Or bully him? Tease him? Or be disgusted by him for thinking of you so lewdly?

He cried out your name before cumming so suddenly, the orgasm shaking him. His back arched and his thighs squeezed shut a little, and his glasses finally fell down, onto the sheets which were now soiled. He felt like the walls of his room were still echoing your name and he groaned. Cal was laying on his back now, arms spread out and he stared at the ceiling.

He panted, grinning like a madman with a heavy blush. The thought of you catching him in such an incredulous act, with him parting his legs for you and chanting your name like a mantra, giving you a show-

Ah shit. He got hard again. He sighed exasperately.

Just as he was about to do the act again, this time feeling a little more guilty for picturing you doing these things to him, he changed his mind. He stood up, and took a long, cold shower.

END OF NSFW.

...

Now refreshed and not so horny anymore, the bodyguard quickly made his way over to your presence, fixing his posture and taking deep breaths, a neatly written letter which he wrote months ago, only for you and you only to read.

Maybe Cal should just confess and hope that you'd accept his feelings. But he didn't know how you felt about him. Since you were little - since the first time you two fucking met - you never really talked much with him. Cal was left wondering if you even harboured any feelings for him in the first place.

If you didn't then he'd make a total fool out of himself. If you did, then maybe...

Just maybe, he'd become your husband. Your husband, who'd try to read every single wish you had right from your delicate lips. Your lover, who'd be the man of your dreams if you said yes to the very question. Your lover, who'd swear to become the greatest king in history, with you as his strong, smart and beautiful wife. His woman.

He wanted to be yours so bad it hurt him mentally and physically whenever a love interest who wasn't him got brought up. whenever you spoke about maybe visiting or inviting a prince over made him hurl and want to punch a wall.

He didn't notice that he was already in front of your door, your deep, gentle voice immediately reaching his well-trained ears. He allowed himself to smile for a millisecond, then his smile vanished and he stepped inside.

---

Heya, how was that?

I kinda let out everything I thought in here, like for part 2!

[noxcheshire]

I’ve been kinda thinking this for a while because I know the dpxdc fandom likes thin as a bean and shouldn’t be capable of lifting Superman so easily, buff as a Viking, and as small but so much curves like his mom, Danny Fenton/Phantom.

And I love them all. For various reasons.

But I just thought about something really hard for a second.

Danny died at 14.

He died being small, and young. He became ecto-contaminated in a way so much more different from Vlad who had been blasted in the face by the smallest portion of ecto-portal that infected and corrupted into his skin.

This is in comparison to Danny who literally had a dimension rip open on top and inside of him.

To me, Vlad basically got the equivalent of a mini bomb exploding in his face and came out of it with severe third degree burns that translated into Ghost Acne.

And then we look at it again from their Ghost’s.

Danny’s ghost is that of a 14 year old boy who died in a cold portal in his parents basement.

Vlad who got blasted in college, was a twig and yet his ghost form is buff and aged just like his aged human body.

If he ‘died’ when he got hit by the mini-portal than his ghost would mimic the form he died in.

But he isn’t.

Instead we get Two different spectrums of a ghostly appearance for two halfa’s.

Ghosts who are meant to form as how they had been during the time of their death. Ghosts who will always be at their core the person they died as, the identity of those last seconds before death took them.

That’s the point of ghosts.

The only time it changes is if there are external third factors.

Such as Aragon’s Necklace. Or being able to use something of the living to ‘change shape’ as the Lunch Lady, or stretch yourself into a giant like Walker, and the greatest exception being Amorpho who HAS no identity to begin with. More than likely a thought that was made but never given anything further, and thus his jealousy with identity. Either that or he died never making a solid identity that could carry on into death, thus making him faceless because he didn’t even know who he truly was at that time of death.

Even Spectra is different! She’s more of a poltergeist-demon than an actual Ghost from the way she does things and even from how she looks in ghost form.

So with that, who is actually Human-Ghost and who just happens to be Ghost adjacent enough to get powers?

Danny is a real Halfa and Vlad is just mimicking one.

Now for the Dan, evil-phantom, of the fandom.

Dan is just BUFF.

He’s an adult. He GREW.

But it wasn’t due to Danny.

It was due to whatever he took from Vlad/Plasmius.

To me, Plasmius was just the ecto that resided in Vlad. All that anger and resentment that gave birth to itself from Vlad’s own anger at what he went through with the mini-portal. It was ecto that was residing in him, ecto from the Infinite Realms itself that was made INTO an idea and then given form.

Ecto that lived, Venom-style, in Vlad.

An idea that grew up with Vlad BECAUSE Vlad was growing up himself. He wasn’t thinking of himself as that scrawny college student anymore. He was becoming an adult so of course the ecto would mimic that idea of Vlad and make Plasmius older too.

Plasmius was a fairy tale that Vlad made up, and that’s why Dan was able to rip that part out of Vlad like it was it’s own true ghost. But it wasn’t, and so it collapsed without its person to control it. At least until Dan dove into the ecto and took the ideas that were there and intertwined himself with it.

Those YEARS of ideas isn’t so easily brushed away either, and even less so when Danny and Vlad had believed that Plasmius was Vlad’s ghost, a halfa just like Danny. So of course Dan would believe in the idea that he took/ate Vlad’s ghost. And that idea would spread because ecto is just another form of power and vitality. So of course that ecto should change Dan.

And then it did.

It changed his colors first and then eventually his physical form.

Thus we have Buff older Dan.

Now back to Danny.

With all that, this means that Phantom is never going to age.

Because Danny did die that day. He died, and only came back because the dimensional rip of ecto from the Infinite Realms tied his ghost neatly into his human body. The human body that just died.

He isn’t alive, his ghost that is tied to the body is simply puppeteering it. And as the Infinite Realms is literally all of time and space throughout every single multiverse in existence, it’s not too far of a shot to say that it could snatch that very moment, that heartbeat Danny craves restlessly, the heartbeat just before he truly died entirely.

Danny is a moment in time.

So his ghost will never age. And neither will his body.

Basically, Danny is forever an eternal 14 year old twig and he will be so very mad about it.

[aneurinallday]

The Elster Man

The antique shop on Allenbrought Street was, to me, the most magical place in the world. Even though it was the first paying job I’d managed to get after university, I was in no particular rush to move on - it was preferable to the waitressing job I’d had at school, and it appealed to my love of the vintage and forgotten. For as long as I could remember, I’d been fascinated by the concept of antiques, so this was the closest I thought I would ever come to a dream job.

I’d only been working there for about six months, but to me, the shop had become a safe haven - a secret hideaway, where I could curl up with a blanket and a cup of tea, and lose myself in a Georgian adventure or a Gothic romance, while the minimum wage trickled into my pocket. The ticking of the grandfather clock was like a lullaby to me, and sometimes I would doze off with the book in my hands, until being woken by the sound of the bell above the door, signalling a customer’s entrance.

My life changed on a Monday afternoon - always the quietest time for our shop, since people were too busy with work or school to come and gawk at antiques. The owner was sick, so it was just me: the only employee, diligently manning the till, sweeping the floor, and dusting the shelves. I’d only had two customers that day - an old man searching for photo albums or soldiers’ diaries from the Second World War, and an elderly woman looking for vintage ornaments - but I didn’t mind. I liked the peace and quiet.

As I pottered around the shop, I was struck, as I often was, by the cosy, cluttered charm of the place. The shelves were stacked high with a beautiful chaos of miscellany - ballerina music-boxes, candlesticks, lampshades, silverware, egg cups, biscuit tins - while the walls were hung with framed photographs and wooden cuckoo clocks.

Sitting on chairs were stuffed animals with button eyes and porcelain dolls with real human hair, and looming over everything was a large, ornately carved grandfather clock, whose pendulum swung to and fro almost hypnotically. Every object had been crafted by skilful hands, whose owners were long-dead; and I took my role seriously as the caretaker of their legacies.

I finished rearranging a teapot, teacups, and saucers on a tray, then looked around for something else to do. I took advantage of the down-time to start unpacking a delivery we’d received the previous Friday: several beat-up cardboard boxes of items from Elster House, an eighteenth century manor-house somewhere in the south.

In order to fund the upkeep of the twenty-bedroom, twelve-bathroom mansion, the aristocrat who lived there was in the process of converting it from a private residence into a public attraction. Tourists and history buffs would come flocking to admire the topiary and old paintings, and hopefully leave a few coins in the donation box. But first, the attics needed to be cleared out.

And so here I was, kneeling on the floor, elbow-deep in a cardboard box stuffed with old bits-and-bobs, sorting the tat from the treasures.

Porcelain figurines of blushing cherubs and graceful Regency ladies gazed down at me as I worked. With a keen eye, I inspected each piece closely, looking for any scratches, scuffs, or discolouration that might decrease their value. I set aside a gilded snuff-box, and my gaze fell upon a rectangular tin at the bottom of the pile.

It wasn’t an antique, but a fairly modern storage tin, maybe from the 1970s or 1980s, painted with a rather gaudy floral design. It looked out-of-place among its Victorian companions.

I picked it up, and turned it around several times to admire the pattern. Then I attempted to open it, struggling to dig my fingernails under the lid. Gritting my teeth, I exerted more pressure. The lid finally gave up with a wheeze of escaping air, and the contents were revealed: a mess of old photographs, grey or sepia-toned, unmistakeably and authentically Victorian.

I scrambled to my feet, wincing as my stiff knees protested. I hurried to fetch a pair of cotton gloves, specially bought for protecting old, fragile documents from skin oils. Hastening back to the box, I sat cross-legged, put on my gloves, and reached into the tin.

The first photo I picked up was an unremarkable portrait. A young man sitting in a chair, wearing full Victorian garb, staring off into the distance in an aloof, regal fashion. His expression was dignified and stoic, his pose statue-like. When Louis Daguerre had succeeded in reducing a camera’s exposure time from hours to minutes, the popularity of portraiture had exploded; but having one’s photograph taken had remained a serious event, and smiling hadn’t yet become acceptable.

I peered more closely at the faded image. The man was strikingly handsome, in an angular and somewhat haunted way, his dark hair slicked with pomade. His large, shadowy eyes seemed full of secrets and deep, unknowable thoughts. A Gothic beauty, complete with an aura of mystery. Judging by his fine clothes and aristocratic bearing, he was probably an ancestor of the current owner of Elster House. The plain background and lack of other objects ensured that my gaze focused on him.

I turned the picture over. Written on the back in elegant cursive were the words:

Richard Mariah Elster

His Lordship on a fine Friday

October 13th 1843

To my chagrin, many of the photographs were heavily damaged - covered in splotches and scratches, the corners faded and curling. It seemed as though they’d been tossed carelessly in the tin with no regard for proper storage, yet a loose chronology seemed to exist. As I flipped through, I realised that they were all of Lord Elster. It was a collection dedicated to one man - one beautiful young man (or young to my admiring eyes, at least).

In most of them, he was alone, sitting or standing in various attitudes; but in some of them, he had companions - an elderly couple that I assumed were his parents, a male contemporary who was probably a university friend, a young woman whom he may have been courting. All of them seemed to pale in comparison; my eye was always drawn to him.

Each picture was its own little enigma. Who was he, and what circumstances had brought him to be photographed that day? Was he marking a significant event in his life, or had he simply wanted to show off his new clothes? My gloved hands carefully turned them over, checking for writing, but most of what I found was illegible.

As I searched, my fingers found something that wasn’t paper - something soft and ticklish. I withdrew a lock of dark brown hair, long and curly, bound with a red ribbon tied in a bow. I handled it with the utmost care, afraid of damaging the centuries-old strands. Then, on an impulse, I sniffed it. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the lingering, sweet fragrance of perfume. I wondered if he’d requested it as a keepsake, or if his lover had offered it as a token of her affections.

Picking up another picture, I experienced a momentary shock to see Lord Elster’s dead body propped upright, bereft of its head; but I quickly identified it as a joke photograph. In the 1880s and 1890s, there had been a humorous fad for “headless portraits”, in which the subject posed for two photographs in succession, and both photo negatives were combined to create the illusion that they were holding their own severed head by the hair or cradling it on their lap. Sure enough, the lord’s “decapitated” head was sitting nearby while his hand pretended to stroke its hair. I snorted with laughter, and put the picture aside.

The one that followed wasn’t a single image, but a collection of eight, arranged in two rows of four. I recognised it as a “visiting card” from the 1860s or late 1850s. At the time, it had finally become possible to take quick, casual photographs and print them onto a single sheet of thin paper, usually showing a person in the same setting but in different poses and attitudes. The low cost and simple production of such photos had led to their boom in popularity, as they could be easily traded among friends and family - one of the earliest examples of social media.

In all images, he was standing with a top-hat and cane in his hands. Sometimes he was posed in a serious and stoic manner, but sometimes he appeared grinning and playful. The images were too small to make out details, but I was struck by his humour - a long-dead man captured forever in a moment of amusement. It was a jarring reminder that people had been just as silly seven generations ago as they were now. Looking at him, I realised I was smiling.

But when I put it aside and saw the next picture, my smile died and my heart dropped. The young lord was sitting in an armchair, his eyes closed, his face slack, his mouth a sliver of blackness as it hung ajar. He looked like he was fast asleep, but I knew that he was dead. The sight came as a gut-punch to me. I’d been piecing together the jigsaw of his life, and in a strange and maybe stupid way, I felt like I’d gotten to know him. Now he sat in front of me, dead, motionless, his existence reduced to a scrap of paper.

There was nothing written - no date, no tribute, no expression of grief. I wondered what had happened to him. Had he died peacefully or violently? In bed after a terrible illness, surrounded by the tender care of his loved ones? Or in the middle of the street after a sudden accident, surrounded by gawking strangers? Morbid curiosity compelled me to peer closer at the photograph, looking for any clue as to what may have killed him - but he was fully dressed and immaculately hairstyled, hiding any possible sign of injury.

He was undeniably dead, and in accordance with the customs of the time, his family had decided to take one last picture of him.

I hadn’t come to work that day expecting to get emotional. Perhaps it was just the dust, but my eyes had begun to sting. I moved on, eager to shake off the image of his lifeless face.

The following photograph was decidedly less formal - probably a private memento. He was standing up, one foot crossed in front of the other, leaning his arm on the back of a chair in a casual manner. His hair had grown longer, and hung in easy-going curls to his neck - quite unusual for the time period, when most men had worn their hair short, slick, and sensible.

He appeared to be in an exquisite garden lined with marble columns, with a fountain in the background, but I couldn’t tell if it was a real place or a studio backdrop. Maybe it was a corner of the Elster estate, or maybe it was just paint on a canvas.

I held the precious picture in both hands, glad to see him alive again, then gently put it aside.

What I saw next caused me to freeze for a moment, as if my heart had skipped a beat. The young man was sitting naked on the floor, and smiling at someone out of frame. His long, dark curls were gathered loosely back, exposing his pale shoulders, and his expression was one of eager delight. Compared to the formality and pomp of its companions, the image was shocking in how alive and intimate it was. The subject was aroused, happy, and in motion.

I turned the picture over. Scribbled on the back in messy cursive were the words:

My darling, delicious Rick. A souvenir. Nothing tastes sweeter.

Something about the penmanship made me think it was a man’s. I felt a sudden guilt. This photograph was never meant for my eyes - it was a secret message between two lovers, who in their time period would’ve lived in the shadows.

Moving on, I jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire - the next picture was even more scandalous. His unrestrained hair tumbled in disarray about his face, and he was wearing an embroidered dressing gown that hung open, revealing that he was nude underneath. He was draped over a chaise longue in a languid pose, one bare leg crossed lazily over the other. To my modern eyes, the pose was no more shocking than a Greek statue, but for the time, it must’ve been outrageous.

Staring at him, I abruptly realised that it was his hair I had sniffed. His perfume I had imagined a whiff of. For some reason, the fact was embarrassing.

On the back of the scandalous photograph, I discovered the words:

To my dearest Rick. I found this and had to share the memory.

Wednesday 6th June 1866

This time, the handwriting felt feminine to me - painstaking, graceful, the result of years of strict schooling. I wondered how many lovers he’d had in his life, and which one he’d married to continue the Elster line.

Wait…1866? I squinted at the number. No, I’d definitely read it correctly.

I returned to the first portrait, dated 1843, and examined his face with a more critical eye. If I was generous and assumed he was in his early twenties at the time, he still looked remarkably youthful two decades later. Perhaps the hand holding the pen had made an error, or perhaps Richard was simply blessed with good genetics. Oh well, this mystery was above my pay-grade - correctly identifying the pictures would be the museum’s job.

I was approaching the bottom of the tin, and already wondering which museum to call first. These photographs belonged in a safe place, not a dusty antique shop, and I felt curiously protective of them. This man had been happy, beautiful, and by the looks of it, exciting; and the thought of him being forgotten hurt.

Suddenly, my eye was caught by a pop of colour. Something blue amid the grey and sepia. I reached for it, drew it from the pile, and my blood ran cold.

It was a Polaroid, and the face smiling back at me was Lord Elster’s. From what I could see, he was wearing a blue denim jacket over an unbuttoned tie-dye shirt, and his hair was gathered back in a loose mess. Seeing him in colour came as a shock to the system. Even in the faded, washed-out Polaroid, his curls were a rich and lustrous brown, his eyes a deep green. Even his pale skin seemed to be a dozen hues of pink.

My hands had begun to shake. It was the same person. Unmistakeably so. Indistinguishable, down to the slight asymmetry of his eyes. Even an identical twin wouldn’t be such a perfect match.

I knew it was him, but I also knew the idea was impossible. Although colour photography had ceased to be experimental in the 1930s, it hadn’t become the norm until the 1960s, and the Polaroid Corporation hadn’t dominated the world of instant cameras until the 1970s. If the man in front of me was the same man who’d sat patiently for a portrait in 1843, he would be almost two centuries old.

The sound of the shopkeeper’s bell jolted me from my reverie, a resonant chime informing me that a customer had entered. Sure enough, I heard the door swing shut with a decisive thud, and a male voice calling cheerfully:

“Hello?”

“One moment, please,” I answered, quickly returning everything to the tin and putting the lid back on. I heard his bouncy, blithe footsteps striding across the floor towards me, and realised I was covered in dust. I brushed myself off and emerged from behind the shelves, the floral tin in my hands. “How can I help - ” I began, but then I saw his face and the words died in my throat.

“Ah. I was looking for that. Thank you.”

His voice was youthful and sweet. He plucked the tin from my unresisting hands, paused, and peered closely at it. I realised I’d failed to rotate the lid back into the same position I’d found it, resulting in the flowery pattern being disrupted. My mouth opened and closed, but all speech had deserted me.

“You’ve been nosy, I see,” he said, “No matter.”

He smiled brightly, and slapped a stack of bank-notes down on the counter without counting them.

“There. Whatever awkward questions you have, this should be all the answer you need. If you feel it’s insufficient, please feel free to swing by Elster House whenever you’re in the area. I’ll give you a guided tour without the entrance fee, and I promise you’ll leave happy.”

He turned, and with a flick of his dark curls, was gone.

For @rmelster

[holdupjack]

They’ll Be Much More Interested In My Wife

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Hollywood film stars hiding their love.

WARNING: SMUT 18+/MINORS DNI

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Los Angeles California, 1958

Hermione had moved to the States in 1955, a month after her 18th birthday, She had hugged her mother and father goodbye to pursue a career in the biggest film industry in the world.

She was destined to become a star.

Her soul yearned for it.

The young girl was cast fairly quickly due to her beauty and the seemingly natural talent she had for capturing her emotions onto film.

Hermione did many movies within the last few years, having to mask her accent for most due to the 'all-American girl fantasy' the whole word was stuck on.

Then again, she understood the charm.

She had reluctantly gone on dates with many male stars, all of them being less than fruitful as they talked on and on about their successful movies and Oscar wins.

On one of the days on the set of a 'romantic' war film, she was the lead. Y/n Y/l/n walked in dressed as a secretary, her character's 'roommate'. Whom she was supposed to fight with, in the next scene.

This movie had more secret gay underlining than straight movie buffs would ever realize.

She hoped the future generations would see it and appreciate the risks the writers took.

Y/n is a beautiful woman, always smiling as she read her lines, or laughing at something one of the stagehands said.

Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off her as they waited for everyone to be ready for shooting, their eyes met from time to time as Hermione sat in her chair with her legs crossed, her thumb holding her chin as she blocked her growing smile with her index finger.

This wasn't their first encounter, not even their second, and you could tell from the way they greeted and looked at one another.

It wasn't a surprise that in the time they lived in, openly dating someone of the same sex was a death sentence, with your career and literally.

They had first met a few months into Hermione's first year as an Actress, circling each other like predators.

It was a secret hostility they shared, since Y/n had a few years on her in acting, even though they were the same age, and considered Hermione a threat to her career when it came to the chances of getting leads in movies.

Y/n had been a child star, and Hermione even grew up watching her in the family-friendly movies she saw with her parents.

Hermione found her pretty then, and even more gorgeous now.

She had known of her feelings towards women for many years now, she honestly knew it was the whole reason she detested men.

Yet, she had to keep up the act. No journalist or paper could know how she felt, so if that meant unfulfilling dates and sex, so be it.

They only had a month left with each other until this movie wrapped up for editing, and the male lead, Joesph Cotten was hitting on them relentlessly.

(A/N: actual actor back then btw, but I know him best from Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte...also no idea if he was a lady's man, so consider this satire)

The girls just gave fake giggles and thanked him for his kind words before they were called onto the stage. They took their places and waited for the director to call the scene to action. Y/n sat at a desk while Hermione stood behind a door that led into the area.

"Action!"

Hermione walked into the room and shut the door behind her, Y/n didn't look up as she pretended to sign papers, she then glared at her.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered in her very convincing American accent as Y/n looked up and had a confused look on her face.

"Pardon me?"

"You told me that you were going to stay home today" Hermione states as she walks toward the desk and peeked past her and into the window that had her boss (Joseph) sitting inside talking to an associate.

"I'm a secretary for an important general of the U.S. Army, I can't call off because you told me to Lily" Y/n replied as she stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet, opening it to a slew of blank papers inside.

Hermione loomed next to her and stared at her face in a soft panic, the corner of their eyes saw the camera slowly make its way to capture their emotions.

"Please Mary, go home after lunch." Hermione whispers as she stands closer to capture Y/n's gaze.

This movie wasn't focused on expressions like the others they had been in, instead of close up of their faces to make a statement, it was told through body movement.

Yet, the gazes shared between them told another story, a relationship between a spy and her 'roommate'.

The whole plot was that Hermione's character, Lily Sullivan, is tasked by the United States military to coax a confession out of Scott Willis (Joseph Cotten) as an enemy of the country. When in reality, "Lily" was the one selling secrets to other countries, she was covering her tracks by killing Scott. The man that was hot on her trail.

Yet, she only says goodbye to one person before she goes on the run.

Mary, her 'roommate' for many years.

They end up leaving together.

The studio said it was a friendship built on lies but was still strong after everything. While Hermione and Y/n knew what it really was.

The girls have on-screen chemistry better than most male and female actors, the papers had said it paid off that they were such good friends off-screen.

"If it bothers you that much Lily, I'll go home after lunch. May I ask why with the urgency?" Y/n asks as she shuts the filing cabinet and Hermione freezes as she pretends to think of a reason.

"I'll explain everything to you later, alright?" She replies and Y/n nods with a bit of hesitation, before ultimately verbally agreeing.

"Okay, Lily."

Y/n then walks out of frame, leaving Hermione to act as if she was thinking deeply for a few moments as the camera zooms in closer.

Her eyes just flickered up and down Y/n's body as she stood a few feet away, it took everything in Hermione to not smile and ruin this take.

Y/n didn't smile, but the glint in her eye showed her that she was enjoying their little staring contest.

"Cut! Great job everyone let's take five and do the next scene with Y/n and Joseph, then will do another take of this after!" the director yells as a bell rings for their dismissal.

A few assistants crowded around the girls as they were pulled towards their chairs for any hair or makeup fixes.

It was late into the night, and they were behind schedule due to a broken camera last week. So today everyone was forced to pull an all-nighter and come back the day after next.

Hermione loved an all-night shooting, it happened once in a blue moon, but when it did?

Y/n came home with her.

No paparazzi would be staying out late to catch them holding hands inside her car, where they could hear the giggles as she chased Y/n into her home and kept the lights off.

Where they would worship each other without fear of being caught by unwanted eyes.

Oh, Hermione loved all-nighters.

——————

When the set was closed and everyone had gone home for the...well it was 3 A.M, so morning. Hermione parked her car behind the studio and waited for Y/n to jump in, the walls were high around the Hollywood set buildings, and even bushes blocked anyone dumb enough to try and climb it for a rare photo.

Hermione loved it when the entire studio was almost vacant, besides the security that watched the gates. They never cared that Y/n had been coming with Hermione to set every morning, or that they left at night together too.

Everyone knew they lived close by, so in their heads, it was just carpooling with a good friend. Of course, the tabloids wouldn't see it that way during all-nighters like this. Where she didn't drop her off at home, or at times where they didn't even make it out of Hermione's garage.

She couldn't keep her hands off her all-American girlfriend, and Y/n couldn't stay away from the British Vixen.

Y/n emerged from the shadows beside the building and quickly slipped into the passenger side of Hermione's 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

"Hello my darling" the Brit whispers as she looks around for any prying eyes, then kisses her cheek softly.

"Hiya doll, did you have as much fun as I did on set?" Y/n asks as Hermione starts the car and drives off to the exit, her hands were aching to touch her like she wants to.

"Very much, but Joseph needs to back off" Hermione mutters as they turn into a small alleyway between two set buildings. The windows were down, the air softly blowing on their faces.

"Awe, still jealous that he grabbed my ass?" Y/n snickered as her girlfriend groaned softly as she thought back on the action from earlier today.

They both knew that if they wanted to get far in this world, they had to let a few hands touch them without objection.

The women could only hold back slaps to the face when this happened, and act as if it didn't bother them.

Of course, when Hermione watched their male lead grab her girlfriend's ass, it took everything in her not to stake her claim in front of everyone.

"I'm not jealous. I'm pissed" Hermione responded as they pulled up to the security guard, who smiled at them as he came up to the passenger side window.

"Get some rest Ms.Granger and Ms.Y/l/n," He says as they smile back at him as he walks towards the gate and opens it for them.

The car crept out into the street and then turned to the start of their way home. Y/n looked out towards the high-end clothing stores, their display windows dim, but you could see the shine the fashion produced.

"I'm still surprised you haven't gone shopping during our lunch breaks," Hermione says as she catches her stare, to which Y/n chuckled in response.

"No time, you know our 'breaks' are only fifteen minutes" Y/n sighed as she looked back at Hermione. They were stopped at a red light, the glow of all the street lights illuminated Hermione's face as they stared at one another.

"I've missed you as of late my love" Hermione whispers as she rests her hand on the space between them, her palm open and ready.

(A/N: this was in the days when there was no center console in between the front seats so you could literally lay someone down in the front and have a grand old time lol)

"We've seen each other almost every day for the last three months" Y/n replied as she slipped her fingers between her girlfriends. Hermione squeezed slightly and hummed in dissatisfaction at her lover's answer.

"I know, but if I had it my way, I'd hug and kiss you after every scene and performance you gave" Hermione whispers as she notices the streets are empty, no cars coming or going, or even a single person walking the lonely sidewalks.

"You just want to find every reason to touch me" Y/n whispers back as Hermione looks around them one last time before through the car in park and unbuckling herself, leaning over their intertwined hands.

"If God told me touching you was a sin, I’d go down to hell with a grin on my face" Hermione states as she kisses Y/n's neck, leaving a bright red lipstick stain in its wake.

A guilty moan slipped past Y/n's lips as her girlfriend happily nipped and kissed her sensitive skin like a hungry mosquito.

"Hermione" Y/n warns as she feels a hand land on her knee and slowly trail under her skirt. Her eyes fluttered closed and snapped open multiple times as she kept watch for any signs of life.

Hermione's fingers traced the lining of Y/n's undergarments, earning another moan as she leaned her head back.

Suddenly Hermione backed away and put the car back in drive, but her hand grasped Y/n's thigh and pulled her close enough to not raise any suspicion.

Y/n looked back up and realized a car was coming up behind them, thankfully the light turned green and they were on their way.

Hermione was now only less than an arm's length away, which worked in her favor as she hooked her fingers around the fabric covering Y/n from the greedy hands of her girlfriend.

"Hermione are you-"

"Shhh, just enjoy our extended ride home" she states as she pulls her garments away enough to slip her hand under it with less resistance.

Hermione kept her nails short, which was unusual for most actresses, but she cared about her Y/n more than nonsensical questions from the media about her defiance of social norms.

If only they knew.

Her fingers slowly circle Y/n's clit as she turned onto a back street neighborhood.

Y/n's legs spread slightly as Hermione trailed down her folds, teasingly slipping the tip of her finger inside her, and then removing it swiftly.

Hermione just chuckled as Y/n moaned softly, and looked at her with pleading eyes as they cruised down the quiet neighborhood.

"Be quiet my love, as much as I want the world to hear how good I make you feel, you have to be quiet" she whispers as trailed back up to her clit and gently pinched it. Y/n hissed and gave a glare to the side of her head, to which her girlfriend chuckled in response as she stared at the road.

The pads of her fingers seemed to apologize for her as she soothed the bundle of nerves with small circular motions.

Hermione slowly halted at the stop sign and let her eyes fall onto her beautiful co-star as she tried to bite her lips from moaning in pleasure.

"Lay your head on my lap" she whispers as she retracts her hand and lets Y/n lay down on her thighs.

Hermione could see her underwear had fallen below her knees, peaking out under the skirt, showing the beautiful purple she was wearing,

The Brit's hand snuck back under the fabric of her skirt in desperation, feeling her fingers begin to coat with her slick as she traced her folds again.

"Please Hermione" Y/n pleads in a hushed voice as she grasps the seat in agony. Hermione cooed in response as she turned onto a long narrow street, finally slipping two fingers into her lover's aching entrance.

A moan got caught in Y/n's throat as her head was thrown back in pleasure, a hand grasping Hermione's shirt so she wouldn't crack the leather of her car.

Hermione stalled her fingers and buried them deep inside of her favorite girl, watching from the corner of her eye as she squirmed under her touch.

"Fucking tease!" Y/n whispers as Hermione curls and separates her digits inside her. A soft chuckle left the woman's throat as she continued her sweet torture.

"But you feel so nice around me, can you blame my passion for you?" Hermione asks as her eyes darted around the road, feeling her cunt quiver around her fingers.

"Are you going to cum just from my motionless hand?" She teases as she curls them again, Y/n's mouth hangs open from the sensation.

"You know, if we had soundproof dressing rooms, I'd fuck you senseless during every break. No matter how short it was." Hermione admits as she begins thrusting her fingers at a slow and calculated pace.

"W-We'd never get anything done" Y/n replies between her groans, to which her girlfriend chuckled again.

"Oh my love, if you weren't so headstrong about acting, I would have moved us out to the middle of nowhere by now, so I can have you like this all the time" she whispers as the car rumbles over a pothole, causing the vibrations to stimulate Y/n for a moment.

"Oh god" She whispers as Hermione's pace speeds up slightly, quiet lewd sounds fill the space. If anyone got close enough to the open windows, they would certainly hear the heavenly noises.

Jazz played from the only lit house on the block, tons of people stood within its walls as the starlights drove by.

"Would you like to host parties if our kind is ever allowed to love freely?" Hermione asks as the curling of her fingers becomes more constant with each thrust.

Y/n tried to respond, but the curve of Hermione's palm began to rub against her clit in delicious circular motions.

"You'd be a cute little host, I'd smile proudly as you greeted our friends and introduced me as your lover" Hermione whispered as they turned onto a street that was a straight shot to their homes.

Y/n's hands grasped Hermione's forearm as the pit of her stomach began to tighten familiarly. It took everything in the woman not to dig her nails into her girlfriend's skin, knowing that the bruises would be hard to cover up with makeup.

"You're going to cum already? I was ready to drive around the block a few times" Hermione hums, but the smug and teasing tone didn't slip past Y/n's fading coherent thoughts.

The Brit quickened her pace, noticing cars she recognized all too well, that were parked around the corner to their homes. Also her hand was starting to cramp at this angle.

Fuck, why are they out here?

Paparazzi are waiting nearby, ready to pounce on the women unprovoked from the open windows. She should stop, and just ask Y/n to, loudly, ask her in for a quick drink in case any cameras were watching them.

But, Hermione was too enamored by the fact that only she could bring Y/n to this state. Feeling her body squeeze and tremble around her fingers was delightfully maddening.

Hermione continued down to Y/n's home, they had maybe less than a minute.

"Cum for me my love, we're almost to your house" Hermione whispered as her palm slapped against her clit in a frantic motion from her thrusting.

Y/n's mouth hung open as she uncontrollably dug her nails into her lover's skin. Oops.

Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as Y/n's legs shook and a generous amount of slick covered her fingers, dripping onto the fabric of Y/n's skirt.

"F-Fuck!" Y/n moaned quietly as her head pressed into her girlfriend's lap, and her back arched from the pleasure. Dots of white poked holes in her vision as she stared at the ceiling of the car.

"I think some of our 'friends' are waiting for us." Hermione commented as she reluctantly pulled away her hand and sucked them clean. So she wouldn't ruin her steering wheel...obviously.

Y/n didn't even give herself time to recompose, slipping her underwear back around her hips and sitting back up. Even after a quick session in the car, Y/n still looked as if she had just come out of makeup.

A bright red lipstick stain shined through the dark.

"Don't forget my signature on your neck" Hermione chuckled as Y/n quickly rubbed away the stain, not wanting to take any chances with the journalists.

Hermione had been right, when the headlights hit the tree line when she was turning into Y/n's driveway, two photographers were waiting for a chance at a picture of Y/n or herself bringing home a costar.

Technically it would be true, but they would just say that they two shared drinks after a long day on set. Oh to be so naïve.

The girls acted as if they didn't see them, instead as Y/n got out of the car, she asked her 'friend' in for a cocktail and to talk about some...unfinished business.

Hermione accepted and shut off her car, locking it behind her as she got out. They could hear the clicking of cameras as they walked to the front door. It took everything in the English woman to flip them off.

They slipped into the house with ease, Hermione watched Y/n lock the door and flip on the living area light. She signaled her to follow, and they instead went upstairs and stepped into her bedroom.

It was pitch black, but Hermione knew this room better than her own, so she easily made her way onto the bed.

Somewhere in the darkness, she could feel Y/n's eyes on her, Hermione then felt a hand start from her calf and trail up to between her thighs.

Goosebumps were left in its wake.

"Let me return the favor, won't you Granger?"

[monstersandmaw]

Female knight x lady - part one?

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I've had this knocking around for ages, and I don't know if I'll continue it, but I fell in love with all the characters anyway and figured someone might enjoy it. It was based on a prompt that I can't find now, but ran along the lines of: "Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying."

Wordcount: 4149 Contents: Buff, tough, butch knight seeks employment from a local lady, featuring the ugliest horse in all the land, a dog named Muffin, and a brother who just wants his sister to be happy and safe... Fleetingly suggestive moments, but nothing super nsfw.

“Here goes nothing,” she sighed as she drove the nail into the village noticeboard with the pommel of her dagger and stepped back to look at her chicken-scratch writing. “Fuck,” she added as she glowered at it and saw the way her hand had smudged the bottom of it.

“Female knight looking for a Lady to serve. Experienced in monster slaying. Find me at the Bleeding Goat until the day after the Spring Equinox.” At least, if she squinted it still looked like ‘Spring Equinox’. If she didn’t, it looked like ‘Stink Jurybox’ or even ‘String Fairyfox’.

“Fuck,” she said again, and turned away. It would have to do. She didn’t have any more paper anyway.

And with that, she led her enormous war horse down the road towards the Bleeding Goat inn. Maggot was a vile mare by anyone’s estimation, but Vika loved her dearly. Built like a brick shithouse, with a shaggy, yellow-ish white coat, pink eyes, and a propensity for biting anyone who came within a three yard radius of her, the mare wouldn’t have won an equine beauty contest if she was the last horse in the land, but she was loyal to Vika, and could keep up a steady trot for days without breaking a sweat. She made a great windbreak too, if the need called for it, and her hooves were the size of a large buckler shield. Once iron-shod, they were lethal when she reared up or lashed out.

The ostler at The Bleeding Goat almost didn’t take her.

“Size of that beast,” he muttered as Vika led her into the fresh stall. “Looks like it might eat one of my donkeys whole if I turn my back!”

“She won’t trouble the others if they don’t trouble her,” Vika growled down at him.

“If you say so,” he said, giving her the once-over too as he looked back over his shoulder at her.

At six foot three, with broad shoulders, thick, wild, dark brown hair that resisted almost every attempt at combing, a jaw like an anvil and a glare to make a dragon nervous, Vika was only distantly aware of the little man, the way a lion might briefly take note of a mouse in the grass.

“Like horse, like rider,” he muttered as he shut the door on Maggot’s stall. He reeled backwards and tripped over his own heels when Maggot lunged for him, teeth bared, red eyes rolled to show the whites and her lopsided, wolf-bitten ears pulled right back against her matted mane. “Fucking hell,” the ostler yelped as he scrabbled to his feet. “Look after it yourself!”

“Suits me,” she said with a shrug. “You never gave me the chance to offer.”

“Bitch,” he spat as he slunk out of the stable yard, nursing a bruised backside and a wet patch where he’d fallen on the muddy ground.

“That’s ‘Dame’ to you!” Vika yelled after him. When he stopped and lurched back around to goggle openly at her, she offered him a cold, feral grin and tapped the pattern of embroidered lilies and swords on her padded brigandine with her thumb. “Dame Vika of Sharkshoal Point.”

“Right. Sorry, m’lady. Ma’am. Dame…”

She snorted and turned away just as Maggot whickered in a way that meant she was thoroughly amused with her own antics. Vika poked her in the chest and she stepped back from the stable door to let her owner in, and with practised movements that felt almost meditative, she had untacked the horse and rubbed her down with a handful of straw. The bran mash and oats she’d paid for were brought to her by a trembling stable lad who had stared up at her from over the stable door with wide eyes until Maggot had neighed with soft, enquiring interest and he’d practically flung it over the door and bolted for the kitchen door of the inn. Anyone might have thought Maggot was a roaring dragon by the way he’d reacted, but it was a common enough occurrence that neither mare nor knight paid it any mind.

Vika spent three days at the inn.

She took the time to sharpen all her numerous blades, not just the greatsword she usually kept sheathed on Maggot’s tack, and she even managed to acquire a needle and thread to darn up a few slashes in her padded brigandine. Her needlework wouldn’t have passed muster in the house of a lady, but delicate embroidery wasn’t the goal. She could make two pieces of fabric meet and stay together well enough, and that would have to do. She could also sew up a person if push came to shove, and she bore the scars of her own neat stitching in a number of places about her body as proof.

On the fourth day, while the lively little town was setting up for the Spring Equinox celebrations, a man entered the tavern’s common room and looked around, asking for the ‘female knight’ who’d placed the advert on the board.

She tensed but let the scene play out, watching as the cute serving girl flushed and pointed across the room at her.

The man turned and cocked an eyebrow when he looked Vika up and down, but he thanked Ella and wove his way carefully between the tables. He was wearing the practical garments of a labourer, with a long tunic that covered his hips and a belt around the waist, but the fabric was far finer than any Vika had ever clapped eyes on, and his fur-trimmed cloak looked soft enough to swaddle a baby. His boots were worn to the point of comfort, but not falling apart, and at his hip he carried a slender sword with a silver pommel.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said with a polite incline of his head and an accent that betrayed him as nobility as surely as the gold stitching on his scabbard. “But are you the knight who placed the advertisement on the noticeboard? You’re looking to serve a lady?”

“I am,” she said, blunt and direct as ever. “Vika,” and she stuck out her hand to him.

He shook it without hesitation and revealed a strong, firm grip. “Lord Roland. Brother of the Lady Elayne Drummond,” he added with a friendly twist of his lips.

He was attractive, for a man, with big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and russet brown hair that fell in easy waves around his ears to brush the fur of his cloak. He had a short beard that was well-maintained, and his skin had the healthy glow of one who had never missed a meal a day in his life and spent much of his time out of doors.

“May I sit?” he asked, eyeing the chair opposite hers across the table.

She glanced down at the throwing knife she’d been in the process of sharpening, and at the black grime that coated her fingertips and around her nails from the oil and the whetstone, and felt a touch of shame beside his immaculate appearance, but she nodded all the same. “Sure. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?” she offered.

He smiled at that and nodded. “The ale here is the best in town,” he said, looking over his shoulder and beckoning over the serving girl with dark eyes and curly, black hair.

“M’lord?” Ella chirped and then shot Vika a smile. She’d flashed her the same smile on Vika’s first night, and again when Vika had made it clear in which room she was staying, should the young woman feel like joining her when she’d finished work. Ella had, and she’d fallen apart with the same glorious light in her eyes under Vika’s mouth and with her fingers buried deep inside her. They’d not met since, but they’d been easy in each other’s company ever since.

They ordered their drinks, and Roland turned back to Vika, resting his forearms on the table. “I suppose I should ask the reason you’re placing advertisements on public noticeboards instead of serving with the king, or even the knight who gave you your title to begin with.”

“A fair enough question,” she shrugged. “He died. Of old age, mind you. I served Gwilym of Sevenoaks from the time I was first raised to the order until two years ago. After his death, I decided to travel. Found myself here, and decided it was time to find myself a new place to roost.”

 “Your advertisement said you’ve slain monsters…?” he asked just as their tankards arrived.

“Thanks,” Vika murmured to Ella as she slid it across the table to her, and then looked up at Roland and shrugged. “Yeah. But nothing that didn’t deserve it first, you know? There was some sick fuck who was kidnapping maidens to feed to a dragon, so I went to the dragon and found out what was really going on, challenged the fuck to a duel, he ran, I put an axe through his skull before he’d cleared the trees. Then there was a vampire that had gone feral back near Reaver’s Canyon, and she refused to let me chain her up til the bloodlust faded. Went into full shift, came at me, and went for my neck —” she bared the side of her throat to Roland where the skin was puckered. “Near tore me open with her fucking claws, but I staked her and that was that. Cauterised it with my own dagger. Nearly fucked up the temper on it too,” she added as an afterthought.

Roland cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, and she wasn’t sure if he was impressed or uncomfortable. Again, that wasn’t an uncommon reaction for folks to have to her.

“Right. Well, you clearly know what you’re doing…” he said in his clipped, aristocratic tone. “I do have one more question.”

“Ask away,” she said and drained a third of her tankard in one go. “Ah, fuck me, you’re right. That is good.”

“Right,” he chirped again, shuffling slightly in his seat. “My sister is… Well… She’s… She’s a lady… you understand…”

“Sisters of Lords usually are,” Vika growled. “What’s your point?”

“Quite, but… while your… um… your deeds are certainly impressive — and if you say you served with Sir Gwilym, I can’t argue that he knew good character when he saw it — I must say that your language is… uh…”

“Unbecoming of the knightly order?” she said. “Don’t worry. I can hold my tongue when I have to. I’m just tired and a bit run down. I apologise. I can watch my mouth, if it offends the lady.”

Roland blushed. “You know, it probably wouldn’t offend ‘the lady’, if I’m honest,” he sighed. “It’s just… Well, you understand. Decorum and all that.”

“Yeah, I get it. So is there an opening at the castle or not?”

He nodded. “I think you’ll fit in just fine, but as a formality, I’d like to extend a trial period to you.”

“Oh, Roland,” she grinned over the rim of her tankard. “Never give a knight the challenge of a trial.”

His answering smile went all the way to his big brown eyes, and he raised his own tankard to her. “I look forward to meeting you in the lists, Dame Vika.”

She snorted and drained her ale. “Ready when you are. Just need to grab my horse and my gear.” Roland slid two coppers onto the table and she frowned. “Thought I said I’d pay?”

“I’m the one interviewing,” he shrugged as he stood and made his way past Ella to the door. “You can leave a tip if you like.”

“Oh, I already tipped her,” Vika purred, sliding a silver coin into Ella’s palm while the young woman blushed prettily and tried to hide a smirk behind a dip of her head. “Bring my saddlebags down to the stables, love? They’re all packed up in my room,” she asked before following him towards the stables.

A magnificent black palfrey, still wearing his gleaming tack, stood in the stable next to Maggot’s, staring wide-eyed and stock-still at the mare with a look of abject horror on his face so comical that Vika guffawed when she saw him.

“That’s…your horse?” Roland asked as he saw Vika hang her arms over her mare’s stable door and dangle her hands in a ‘come here’ gesture at the mare.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I know. Before you say it, we’ve heard it all before. But she’s everything to me, alright? Wouldn’t trade her for a high-stepping prancer like that for the world.”

Roland’s horse snorted, offended.

“Fair enough,” he said, and swallowed thickly. “Come on, Lancer.”

Vika rolled her eyes and hefted her own saddle off the rack near the door and slung it over the stable door. She tacked her mare up in silence and led her out into the yard to mount up after Ella brought out her saddlebags and Vika winked at her just to watch her blush again. “Thank you, love,” she said. Damn, but the girl was pretty.

Ella rested her hand boldly on Vika’s thigh as she looked coyly up at her and said, “It’s been a pleasure, m’lady.”

The ride to the castle took twenty minutes, and passed through some of the loveliest countryside Vika had ever seen. Deer scattered from a nearby field into the oak and beech trees on their right, and as they urged their horses into a canter, Maggot threw in a little buck of happiness and Vika laughed, patting her neck as she sat it with familiar ease.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Roland said as they continued to canter, his palfrey slightly in the lead and looking wary about the lumbering beast a pace or two behind him, “But how did you come by a horse like… that?”

Vika looked down at her mare’s boulder neck and shoulders and sallow, flaxen mane, listening to her dragon snorts as she heaved up the hill. It sounded like a hell of a lot of effort, but she could outlast any fancy racer once the quarter mile marker had been passed. She wasn’t fast, but hell, she had endurance.

“Saved her from a slaughterhouse,” Vika called above the wind in their ears. Her own long hair streamed behind her, probably tangling into an even worse bird’s nest, but she couldn't have cared less after days cooped up in the tavern. She’d expected to have her advertisement ignored, and simply to move on while the town celebrated equinox, but this was infinitely more attractive.

Roland’s horse put on a sudden spurt of speed, nudging from canter to a ground-chewing gallop, but Maggot just ploughed on at the same stubborn canter, pounding her great hooves into the soil until Roland sat back in the saddle and his fancy prancer slowed with a frustrated toss of his head. “A slaughterhouse?” he asked.

“Yeah. They thought she was far too ugly to make a destrier, and too mean to make a carthorse. I took one look at her and bought her. She was a year old at the time, and already built like a siege engine. She could teach mules about being stubborn too.”

“Something I sense you two have in common?” he said, and because he said it not unkindly, Vika laughed.

“You got me there,” she said with another laugh. “So what’s your sister like? And why is she looking for a female knight, specifically?”

He slowed Lancer to a brisk trot, and Vika nudged Maggot up beside him, instinctively tugging the reins to one side when Maggot went to bite the destrier’s glossy, black rump on the way past.

“Ah, none of that,” she barked at the horse, and for once, the mare listened, plodding along like an aged plough horse.

“Elayne is…” Roland began, and then faltered, scrubbing his hand over his face. “She’s beautiful, educated, beloved…” he said, and Vika frowned. When he looked askance at her, he sighed and the weight of it dragged his shoulders down with it. “She’s miserable. Our father… well, he loved her more than anything, but he kept her penned in… like a bird in a cage. She can insult you in about fifteen different languages, but she’s got no experience of any of the places where they speak them. Not even of our own country, really.”

“Sounds lonely,” Vika offered, and not without some sympathy. She’d travelled, and she’d met her fair share of courtly folk before. It wasn’t all it was made out to be.

Roland nodded. “Yes. I think… now that father’s dead, she’d like to see something of the world.”

Vika raised her eyebrows. “And you want someone to go with her?”

“Precisely. We have contacts all across the land,” he said. “She’d never want for a place to stay, but it’s the in-between that worries me. There’s no disguising we’re a wealthy family, and if someone figured out who she is, she could be taken for ransom, or harmed, or… It doesn’t bear thinking about. I can’t go with her because someone would have to run our estates in her absence.”

“She manages that now then?” Vika asked and he nodded.

“Yes. Father taught her everything, and, to my shame, I never had much of a head for it; not the way she does. She’s a natural. I can manage though,” he added, cheeks heating. “It’s not like it’d fall apart completely without her, but… yes. She’s the one who manages the day to day of the castle and the estate finances.”

“I’m surprised she’s not got suitors lining up from the castle gates to Southport,” she snorted.

“Oh, she has,” he laughed.

“None of them good enough?”

Again, Roland barked a laugh. “Seemingly not. Look —” he said, and pointed with his gloved right hand as they rounded a bend in the road and the trees drew back a little way. “That’s Crow’s Nest.”

Vika followed his gesture and spotted the dark castle on the hill easily enough. “Impressive,” she murmured.

“Think your ugly mare can beat my Lancer to the courtyard from here?” he asked.

Maggot was already lurching forwards into a determined canter before Vika had processed the question. “What did I tell you about knights and challenges?” she yelled over her shoulder at him as they took off with an ungainly jolt.

Lancer, of course, was off like a hound after a hare a second later, his silky tail held high as an officer’s plume, but after a mile, he began to slow while Maggot just thundered on like a boulder down a mountain. Vika just sat forward a little in the saddle and gave the mare her head to set her own pace. They overtook Lancer on a corner by an oak on the last stretch and Vika yelled, “I hope they let us in without you, Prancer!”

“You’d just batter down the gates anyway!” he roared back, laughing.

Maggot won by a country mile, though mostly through grim determination and grit than anything else. Her sides heaved by the time she got to the barbican gate, and Vika was forced to sit back and ease her into a trot before the archers on the gate started to shoot at her.

Lancer appeared a few minutes later, his deep, black chest rimed with foam and his nostrils flared wide while Vika was still walking Maggot in a lazy circle just out of bow shot, and Roland shook his head. “Damn,” he laughed. “I’d love to see Maggot race Crocus.”

“Crocus?”

“My sister’s gelding. Don’t ask about the name — something to do with saffron and the fact that he’s probably the most orange horse you’ll ever lay eyes on. Open the gate!” he added in the same breath, and the portcullis rumbled up.

“Bit extreme, isn't it? We’re not exactly at war…” Vika muttered as the ironwood frame ground upwards into the bastion above and Lancer ambled in like he was the lord of the castle, not Roland. Maggot eyed the murder-holes with deep suspicion, and then followed the palfrey inside.

Roland shrugged. “There’s already been one attempt on both my sister’s life and my own since our father’s death,” he said, and all the jollity of the race evaporated from his handsome, boyish features. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Shit,” she hissed. “I can see why you’re not celebrating the Equinox here,” she commented, looking around and finding the castle bailey empty of all the accoutrements of celebration like a mummers’ platform and festive stalls.

“Not this year. We’re funding the festivities in the town though,” he said, “To make up for it. But we’re not hosting anything here. Elayne is devastated,” he added as he sprang lightly down from Lancer’s saddle and loosened the girth while a stable hand strode over to greet them. “And very angry with me.”

“Careful,” Vika advised as a second stable hand approached her. “She’s… not the friendliest.”

“Right…” the young man chirped, faltering. “Uh… you want to lead her in then?”

Vika saw her mare settled and rubbed down, and when the stable hand promised to feed her in an hour’s time, after the strain of the race had faded from her body, Vika relaxed a little. He did know what he was doing after all. “Don’t shut yourself in there with her though,” she advised him while the mare rolled her red eyes at them, and the young man nodded.

She hooked her saddle bags over one arm and strode after Roland to meet him at the castle entrance.

The next few hours passed in a blur, but after she’d bathed and been given a new set of clothes, which not only fitted her but actually suited her, by a tailor who seemed to have magicked them out of thin fucking air, Vika meandered down towards the great hall.

A massive wolfhound lay sprawled across the doorway ahead of her, and just as the sole of her boot touched the marble entrance hall floor at the base of the stairs, a young woman emerged from a doorway on the other side, and the wolfhound looked up. His shaggy, bull whip tail began to wag and he whined and wriggled on the floor like a puppy as the woman approached, unaware of Vika’s presence behind her on the stairs.

“Oh, Muffin!” she giggled, kneeling beside him and playing with his ears and his bearded chin.

Her dress — a silvery, iridescent blue that shifted as Vika stared at it — pooled around her like a cloud on a summer day, and Vika watched as the dog floundered into a sitting position and tried to lick the woman’s face. She leaned back, laughing, and then caught sight of Vika as she turned her face away.

Vika, a woman who rarely found herself without retort or reposte, stood speechless as the young lady looked up at her and parted her lips in a soft ‘oh’ of surprise.

Vika was no stranger to beauty. From milk maids to marquesses, she’d seen it all, but this woman, with her smooth skin and warm, honey-coloured hair coiled up in pearl-studded waves, her flowing silk dress and bright, blue-grey eyes, gave new meaning to the concept of beauty. “Fuck,” she breathed, too quite for the lady to hear.

“Hello,” the lady smiled. The dog had gone still and was staring at Vika as though he was still deciding whether to launch himself at her or let her approach. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” And with that, she rose like a dancer and crossed to her.

Standing in front of her, she was a foot shorter than Vika, but as she looked up into Vika’s face, the urge to kneel, to bow her head and give every shred of her soul to the woman surged so strongly in her chest she almost wept. Swallowing thickly, she managed, “Dame Vika. Of Sharkshoal Point.”

Something cleared in the woman’s face and she smiled so delightedly that Vika felt lightheaded. “You’re the knight my brother found!” she beamed.

Unable to do aught else, Vika bowed her head. “I am, Lady. If you’ll have me.”

“That remains to be seen,” she grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I hear you beat my brother in a race today,” she added and turned towards the great hall behind her. “Perhaps you’d care to spar with him tomorrow?”

“Will you be there to judge us?” Vika asked before she could stop herself.

“I suppose I should be, shouldn’t I?” Elayne said, pausing and looking back over her bare shoulder. “If you’re to be my knight,” she added, and as her dark eyes raked the length of Vika’s body from boot to crown of head, Vika shivered.

“I’ll be your knight, Lady,” she promised.

Elayne smiled brilliantly, and Vika bit her lip.

___

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[chaotic-mystery]

Pink | Joel Miller

Pairing: Dbf! Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel let’s you paint his nails and you pick the color that matches yours.

Word Count: 1k

All of my dbf! Joel is pre-outbreak, but he’s not a father (I’m sorry!)

ꨄ Let me know what you think, feedback and comments are always welcomed as are requests/ ideas! ꨄ

“Baby it amazes me how well you do your nails. They always look so pretty.” Joel whispers as he kisses your hand and pulls you closer in your bed. “You should let me paint them, you can have pretty nails too” you mutter and look at him with a huge grin plastered on your face. His eyes quickly meet yours, his eyebrows raised and he lets out a breathy laugh. “You mean like right now? Won’t it take forever to dry though? How am I gonna piss or eat or anything?” Your face dropped as he finished his sentence and you grabbed his face, shaking him gently. “Oh sweetheart, you’re so cute” you coo sarcastically, “I’ll use my gel polish so you don’t have to wait for it to dry. Plus, I know your ass wouldn’t sit still long enough without fucking it up.” 

He gave you a chaste kiss and tossed the comforter back, getting out of your bed. His toned back faced you as he rummaged around the clothes trail you had left from your previous X-rated escapades. Getting up and tugging on a pair of sweats and a shirt, you hear Joel's footsteps get closer to you and soon enough his arm wraps around your neck, your chin resting in the crook of his elbow. His lips press against the crown of your head repeatedly, “You’re so beautiful, lil lady.”

Your eyes closed in happiness and tapped his arm to get him to quiet down. “Flattery won’t get you out of this.” You wiggled out of his arm and squatted down in front of your shelf full of knickknacks and random shit you’ve collected over the years. Digging through your container of gel polish, you hold up one to Joel’s eyesight, “Do you like this one?” 

“Mmmm no, pick anything but that one.” he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants as he watched you rummage through the bottles until you settled on one and grabbed the rest of what you needed. “I’m so excited to do this with you baby!” your voice carried down the hall as you sprinted to the kitchen, immediately setting all your stuff out on the table. You pull the chair out for Joel to sit in as you pat the back of it eagerly, practically dragging him to the seat. “Oh I’m sorry Ma’am, was I not movin fast enough for ya?” He jokes as you take the seat across from him and start filing his nails, shaping them before you push his cuticles back and buff the tops of his nails. Your tongue poked out between your lips in complete focus. Trying not to hit his skin with the rough grit. “Ouch!” He hollered as he yanked his hand back quickly and you dropped the file, apologizing profusely. Joel quickly busts out laughing and holding his stomach as his eyes are squeezed shut, his laugh echoing off the walls. “Baby, Baby I’m sorry I won’t do it again, promise. I’m done” he begs and puts his hand back in yours after kissing your knuckles softly. “You’re an ass, I thought I cut you! Don’t do that, jerk face.” You tried hiding a grin but it was no use and soon your laugh was escaping your lips. 

You brushed his nails off with the soft bristle nail brush before wiping them down with alcohol, and painted the base gel on one hand at a time and set them under the UV lamp for 120 seconds.

“I hope you don’t mind this color, but I thought it’d be cute if we matched”

 “Yeah Sugar, I don’t mind black. It’s sexy, I think it’ll look good on me.” He seemed all for it until you glanced up at him with your lips pressed together holding back a giggle. “Black? Who said black? Are you forgetting I have two colors on my nails?” His smile dropped instantly when he realized he was not getting black nails. 

“Hunny...really?”

“What? I think it’s cute!” 

He watched as the sparkly pink gel polish quickly coated his thumb nail, contrasting against his beautiful tan skin. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he rhetorically asked and just shook his head, chuckling. “Oh shut up, you love me” you muttered as you put his hand under the lamp once again but for sixty seconds this time. He just stared at you in awe, a small glimmer in his eye. “You’re amazin, sweet girl. You’re my world.” The lamp turned off and the blue glow disappeared from his face but his smile was still there. “Oh, stop you don’t mean that” you stated and started on his other hand. He took the nail polish brush from your hand and put it back in the bottle, getting your attention. You looked back up at him and his face was serious this time. “Darlin’ I mean every word I tell you. You’re so special to me, you truly are my world. If I didn’t mean that do you think you’d be paintin’ my nails this sparkly ass pink color?” His head tilted to the side as he could see it clicking in your head he was being truthful. 

“Well it’s about time you started catchin up to me. I’ve liked you longer than you have me, but it’s okay I’ll let it slide since you’ve come to your senses it seems.” You joked and grabbed the brush again, finishing his hand before setting it under the lamp again for sixty seconds. “Alright now, smart ass. Don’t get bratty on me now”

The last step was putting the top coat on which was fast, and Joel watched closely at the lights on the lamp as the timer counted down. He pulled his hand out when it shut off and he held them up in front of his face to admire your work. “Fuckin’ amazing baby doll, how much do I owe ya?” You stood up gathering your trash and he tugged you onto his lap, your legs straddling his waist. Joel's hands slithered around to your ass and gave you a pat as he kissed you.

“How much do I owe you, baby? Cmon, I wanna pay you for your hard work. Fifty dollars? A Hundred?” Your hand covered his mouth and you shook your head no. “Nothing baby. I don’t want your money. Just put those pretty fingers to use again and we’ll be even, how's that sound?” You questioned and that damn smirk grew on his lips, agreeing that’s fair. 

[minzart]

THE VILLAINS LINE UP!

God this took so fucking long-

[Me rambling about the desings bellow]

King of hearts: goofy man, that's it, he is supposed to look goofy and that's his whole deal

Queen of hearts: she is one of those ladies who would and does, pay people to create old dresses for her bc she loves the period

Scar: he's supposed to look like he's in comfortable clothes since he is playing the "lazy uncle" at any time he needs, I was thinking of giving him short hair, bc scar was supposed to be like a "sickly lion" and those have short mane(the only thing the live action got right is that aspect of his notes), however I'm too attached to his hair flip in his song so long hair it is, Also gave him a walking stick to compensate that aspect of his character.

Ursula: she is a drag queen, she has a night club, she's beauty, she's charismatic, she's divine

Jafar: he gave me an headache, but then I leaned on the aspect that it was basically him running that town, so he is supposed to look like THE BOOS bc he's the one who actually does shit in the sultan's business, he has eye bags, has always his phone with him and is in constant calls, he's a busy manipulative man and God he needs coffee

Malleficet: she is goth, and the same height as Jafar but she will count the horns so she says she's taller(a nod to Jafar's creator taking inspiration from maleficent for his desing), old lady grandma, if you think Malleus is bad at tech.... oh budy you haven't seen her trying to smite an Alexa

Evil Queen/Grimhilde: this woman is a model, she's also extremely pale, paranoid about her looks.

Hades: is a slut. That's it, his whole character, play boy ass, surprisingly reliable with business. He's the opposite of Idia, but still an introvert. (I NEVER noticed how buff canon hades is, and now I have this headcanon that Idia's genetic is compatible with muscles, but he never lifited anything slightly heavier than a game console in his life so he doesn't know that if he went to the gym for like, one week, he would be build like a truck)

Chernabog: got a redesign! More chill now, and hary.