#this has been circulating in my brain for so long you have no idea

[kukkakisu]

Old Friend.

Words; 1,252 Content Warnings; N/A Conductor has a reunion with a familiar figure from the past.

The last thing Conductor expected to hear in the everlasting snowstorms was the cry of a child. It wasn't often it went outside, but occasionally it would join its companions there. It wanted to keep an eye on the Bracken, for one and secondly. Well. There was a yearning of sorts. One it wouldn't put to words even if it was asked to. Even if the weather wasn't pleasant, it was still nice to step outside now and then. It was where it was designed to be, after all.

Gears clicked as it walked with a purpose, warm steam emitting from the mouth of the metallic suit it had been with for centuries now. It had its ways of staying warm, but even for it, too long in this weather would be a death sentence. To anyone unwise it would have been a strange thing to hear in the snowy landscape, its movements sounding almost like a slowly approaching steam train. Not that those were made, or remembered anymore. Ancient creations at this point, long forgotten by the humans alive in this era.

The closer Conductor got to the crying, the clearer it became what it was. A whistle of surprise left it, echoing in the air like a locomotive that announced its arrival at a station. What was the poor thing doing here? Surely it shouldn't have been in a place like this. It was aware of their habits of travel, but Rend was far from home. One shouldn't have come here, considering it wouldn't be possible to fly back home.

It was familiar with them. It knew their limits. Their strengths. It didn't need to see one to know what it was. The sound alone was enough. It resonated with it, its scanner picking up the distress signal with ease.

A bright light shined toward Conductor and the figure behind the cries came into view. A massive robot. Even the ground trembled beneath it as it stepped towards the Nutcracker but Conductor stood still, its gaze fixed on the huge war machine. To it, they weren't a threat. It wasn't afraid.

There was a familiar softness it felt. One it reserved for only a few. It wasn't like it to be that way but… It couldn't help it. The Old Bird's cries were never something it liked to hear. It was designed to not be affected by it, given it was meant to work together with them. Yet still, there was a part of it that felt it tug at its code in a way it could not explain. It might have been a fault, an error even, but it didn't care. For this small moment, it let the feeling wash over it like a warm wave that returned to the shore after its long journey in the ocean.

01010111 01101000 01111001 00100000 01100100 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100011 01110010 01111001 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00111111

Conductor kept its gaze as it communicated with the machine, another set of steam leaving it. It didn't have to wait long for a response.

01001100 01101111 01110011 01110100 00101110 00100000 01010011 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001100 01101111 01101110 01100101 01101100 01111001 00101110

The Old Bird's cries continued, loud enough that not even the winds muffled it entirely. Yet their silent conversation together was heard loud and clear. No amount of noise was able to break that connection. Conductor extended its hand. The only one it had left.

01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01111001 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110

With that, the robot went silent. It stood still for a moment, keeping its yellow light on the Nutcracker-- illuminating its figure like a spotlight. Then, it reached for it. A threatening display for most, yet Conductor remained still as the large claws wrapped around its body and raised it upward as if it weighed nothing. It stopped once more as if processing the unspoken words that had been shared with it.

01000110 01100001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 00101110

The hand moved, placing the other to sit on their shoulder. The claws opened and the hand moved back down, leaving it to rest closely against their head. Conductor felt a warmness spread at the Old Bird's words. It wasn't the machinery in it that kept it warm, this time, but rather a feeling of fondness. It had been a long time since it had been called that. Much too long.

A few tendrils slithered under its head, pushing it upwards so it could see better. They looked the same, albeit a lot more withered and rusted. There was a lot of maintenance to do. Lucky for it, Conductor had become quite good at acquiring parts for anything it needed to repair during its long time on this moon. It would be a hassle to keep it in good condition, given the harsh weather this place had. Still, it was a challenge it was willing to take. It owed them that much. They deserved better than to wander around aimlessly, lost and scared, without a purpose.

They deserved a home.

Conductor lowered its head back down and the metal clanked as it made contact with itself. Its gears whirred in preparation, a cloud of steam beginning to steadily leave it. It whistled, though this time it had a clearer tune to it. A soothing melody that echoed through the air like a song.

The Old Bird made a sound once more as well, though this time it was different. It wasn't a noise that it was programmed to make, but rather something akin to a hum. Something Conductor had taught it. Something it wanted to and liked to do on its own accord.

They followed its melody and the two continued their performance like birds that sang together in unison.

Conductor placed its hand against the Old Bird's head giving it a light pat. Like a parent soothing a child. Traveling this far couldn't have been an easy journey to make.

01010010 01100101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111 00101100 00100000 01101100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110010 01100100 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101000 01101111 01101101 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01110100 01100001 01101011 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110

With that, the machine began to quiet down. Its scanning light flickered for a moment before it too shut off. Slowly, but surely the Old Bird powered down. It was just a temporary sleep, but one they very much deserved. Only after they became inactive, did the Nutcracker stop its whistling.

Conductor had a lot of work to do until it would wake up again. It shifted its posture and jumped down on the cold ground, snow scattering under its weight as it landed. It moved to gaze at the silent, still figure once more and spoke something, even if they couldn't hear it now. There wasn't a point to talk but… Perhaps it was feeling a bit sentimental at this unexpected reunion.

"Rest well, old friend."

[em-prentiss]

Ice cold

————

In which you have freezing hands, and Aaron warms them up for you.

Cw: fem!bau!reader—I think it could also be read as gn reader, getting together, fluff, first kiss, no use of yn

Word count: 1.7k

This is my first time writing a reader insert, so please be gentle with me lol. I’ve been wanting to write an Aaron x reader for ages and this idea finally came to me last night. Idk if I’ll continue writing these, but if you have any prompts let me know! It took me ridiculously long to come up with this one haha <3

————

The cold bites at your exposed hands and you shiver, dropping your pen and notepad into your coat pockets because they’re all but useless now, your fingers close to snapping in half. You leave Aaron to jot down notes of the crime scene you’re in, keeping your hands in your equally freezing pockets in a poor attempt at keeping them warm.

Who has the energy to dump and mutilate a body in the woods in the middle of January, anyway?

“Isolated and hard to find, safe to say he’s a local.” You murmur, tucking your chin into the collar of your coat. You curl your numb fingers into your palm, cursing quietly at the stiffness in them.

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees. “One with experience, too. No blood spatter, no drag marks. He could’ve wrapped them in tarps.” He clicks his pen closed and slides it into his pocket along with his notepad, making you sigh in relief at the thought of leaving soon. “We’ll know more once Morgan and Rossi come back from the ME.”

You nod silently, clenching your fingers around the cold fibers of your coat pocket as you shiver again. Aaron’s gaze slides to you. 

“You okay?” He asks.

“It’s fucking freezing,” you grumble, hunching your shoulders and trying to wrap your coat tighter around your body. Your hands have gone fully numb now, clenched into icy fists inside your pockets. “My hands froze over. They’re like ice blocks.” You frown, your jutted bottom lip scratching against the wool of your coat.

Aaron smiles amusedly, his heart warming at the sight of your furrowed brows, your chin tucked into your coat for warmth. You shift slightly from foot to foot, subconsciously huddling closer to him and his endless, blazing warmth. 

He turns his back on the deserted crime scene and focuses instead on you, his eyes lingering on the flush on your cheeks, your skin bitten from the cold. He looks perfectly warm, you think grouchily, in his stupid large coat and his stupid neatly wrapped scarf.

“And yet when we went to literal Alaska you didn’t have any complaints,” he says. 

You huff indignantly, “Excuse you, at least in Alaska I knew it was going to be—” You cut off as his fingers wrap around your wrists and gently pull your hands from your pockets.

Immediately the cold bites at them again, but that’s not what makes you falter. “What are you doing?” You ask as he cups both of your hands between his. Distantly, you think it’s a stupid question. But his hands are so warm, large and completely engulfing yours, making you feel like you just stuck them in an oven. You let out an involuntary sigh, your brain going blank at the sudden heat from his hands.

Aaron ignores your question. “You weren’t lying,” he says mildly, bending his head to look at the way your nails were turning blue. He brings your hands up to his face and blows warm air on the blue tips of your fingers, massaging them with circular motions to force the cold out of them. Your heart picks up at the way your hands disappear beneath his, what’s visible of them looking small in his gentle grip.

Your skin is icy beneath his own. “Jeez, are you anemic or something?” He looks up at you and his lips tilt upward at the flush on your cheeks, deeper now than it was before, and you both know it’s not from the cold.

“No,” you squeak, the excessive heat of his hands rendering you incoherent. His thumbs rub gentle circles onto your palms, slowly forcing the warmth back into them. “Just terrible circulation.”

Aaron hums and looks back down at your hands, massaging them thoroughly until you start to regain the feeling in your fingers. You waggle them experimentally and he smiles a little, moving his thumbs up to your knuckles and rubbing them slowly.

You can feel your blush deepen as you look at him. His gaze is fixed on your hands, utterly focused on his task as if it were the single most important thing on his mind today, as if you didn’t have any pressing concerns like a team waiting for your feedback or a serial killer needing to be caught.

By the time he’s moved to your wrists your whole body is warm, your blood buzzing under your skin. He’s involuntarily shifted closer to you, your hands held so close to his chest your fingertips ghost against his shirt. 

His warm fingers brush over your wrist, catching your fluttering pulse, and your breath is trapped in your throat. Aaron presses your palms together and secures his hands over yours, finally done with his task. The warmth of your joint hands travels to your cheeks, the way his thumbs absently skate over the heel of your hands making your whole body flush. “Warm enough now?” He murmurs.

Just about to catch fire, actually. But you nod. “You’re a useful partner in conditions like these, Agent Hotchner. What with your furnace-like hands.” You try to joke through your racing heartbeat.

He chuckles lightly, his dimples digging into his cheeks. His hands are still holding on to yours. You’re glad for that, because otherwise you’re sure you would’ve risen on your tiptoes and pressed a thumb to each dimple, watching the way your fingers dip into the crevice. 

“Happy to be of service. Anything else I can warm up for you?” His eyes are like sun warmed honey, gazing into yours, and the words leave your mouth before you can think about them.

“My lips are cold too.”

Oh god.

You drop your gaze as your cheeks start to flame, a jittery nervousness suddenly making your stomach hurt. You try to tug your hands out of his grip but Aaron holds on tighter, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and holding you in place. 

You’re still looking down at your joint hands when he clears his throat. “I can help with that,” he says evenly, as if his own heart isn’t racing abnormally fast.

Your head snaps up. “What?” You breathe, frozen in place as he lets go of your hands. You don’t even register the sudden cold, your whole focus on the way he takes your face into his palms, his warm fingers pressing against your cold cheeks.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Aaron asks. His face is serious, all hints of his previously playful smile gone. Briefly you start to wonder if this is one of your many dreams about him, but his hands sear your skin, the icy air burns your lungs as you raggedly breathe in and out. 

You swallow, your throat unbearably dry, and nod. “Yes.” You grip the lapels of his coat, feeling the soft fibers between your fingers.

His face transforms. The hard lines soften, his seriousness melting away as he smiles again. The breath returns to your lungs. “Thank god,” he says bluntly, and you laugh, butterflies in your stomach, in your veins. You grin at him as his thumbs stroke your jaw, his fingertips sliding into your hair as he tilts your face up to his.  

“Your efforts at flirting are tragic, by the way,” he murmurs, just before he presses his lips to yours and steals your indignant reply. Immediately you melt into his arms, one hand slipping into his coat and the other resting on the hard line of his jaw. You always wanted to touch it, and as your fingers skate over it, wander over the skin that meets his neck, you feel his erratic pulse beating.

It’s good to know you’re not the only one ridiculously affected.

Aaron reluctantly pulls away when you both are breathless, his lips turning up into a grin at the sight of your dazed eyes. He leans in close and presses soft, gentle kisses on your lips—just to make sure they’re properly warmed up. 

You slip your hand into his hair and sigh—the cold has nothing on you now—just about to kiss him properly when his phone rings.

Aaron steps back and the biting cold replaces his warmth. You shiver as he digs his hand into his pocket and takes out his phone, your lips abnormally warm and your hands slowly returning to their once freezing state. 

“Yeah Dave,” he answers, his eyes still on you. You jut your bottom lip and he grins, his hand reaching for yours. He links your fingers together and softly runs his thumb over yours, making your cheeks flush again. “Sorry, we ran into traffic on the way. We’ll be there in an hour or so.”

Aaron ends the call and you laugh as he tugs you to the car, your fingers still linked. “What?” He smiles and you beam back.

“Traffic?” You raise your brows. 

He rolls his eyes. “What did you want me to say? ‘Sorry I got carried away kissing my beautiful subordinate’?” You reach the car and he opens the door for you, but you don’t get in. 

Your heart skips at his words. He smiles and you finally reach up and place your thumb into his dimple, your own smile spreading. “Yes,” you say simply, unable to believe you can finally do this. “You know they have a running bet on us.” You murmur, leaning forward to kiss the divot in his cheek.

Aaron’s skin warms beneath your lips. His hand falls to the curve of your waist and he squeezes lightly. “I know,” his voice comes out a little tight and you smile. He clears his throat and gently pushes you into the car. “The faster you get in, the faster we can collect. And we’ll use that money for our date, yeah?” 

“Deal.” You grin and get into the car, Aaron’s gentle hand guiding you into the seat. He can’t help but give you another kiss before he closes the door, your lips sweet and soft between his own.

You sigh as he climbs into the driver’s seat, your cheeks delightfully warm and your hands only slightly chilly. Aaron pulls out onto the road and his hand finds yours again. 

You thread your fingers between his and look out the window, feeling absurdly grateful for the cold woods you were in.

[queers-gambit]

And Let Me Love You Anyway

[ part two of two ]

prompt: you embark on a secret but passionate affair with the Rogue Prince, and when his wife, Rhea Royce, passes away, he chooses you to wed next - a decision that angers his niece and changes history.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader only description given: red hair and Daemon's able to lift you

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 6.3k+

note: what the fuck is this, Cherry? also two parts 'cause author gets carried away!

warnings: show spoilers, cursing, author has small bouts of feministic ideas, author also really likes the "little birds" storyline (let her live!), wonky brain is wonky, i think hurt and comfort, angst, very mild NSFW (female receiving oral), technically alternative timeline 'cause this goofy-ass author has an overactive imagination, #icanmakehimworse, another reader-episode-insert (this warning is for the fucking losers in my inbox).

part one: "Tell Me Every Terrible Thing you ever did, And let me love you anyway," - Edgar Allan Poe

"Alicent, we're late," you sighed with a frown, wiping your sweaty palms nervously as your necklace was latched in place and perfume spritzed on your pulse points. YES - that included your ankles.

"That's the point, sister, we're supposed to be late. It sends a message."

Your eyes rolled, snipping, "The King will not be pleased. I am not his wife, he can get angry at me, you know!"

"He'll manage," she snapped, glancing at Talya. She continued, "He dismissed Father for telling him a truth he would rather ignore. So much so, after years of service, he'd - "

"Yes, yes, the King removed Father as Hand, sent him back home," you nodded with understanding. "But we both know how he feels about his daughter, The Princess! The rumors circulating would cost him his life in the end, we are lucky he was only sent home!"

"Rumors! Rumors, sister, truly!? Tell me, do you think Father lied?"

"I know he didn't."

"Exactly why we're late to tonight's affair," she huffed, fixing her hair in the mirror again. "It's a statement, it's deliberate. We will stand out, prove we are not happy with the turn of events. Why offer Rhaenyra blind respect when she continues to do as she pleases - regardless of consequences."

You paused, sensing her anger brewing and trying to distract, "You know, Ser Lyonel Strong is not a bad replacement for Father."

"This is not about Ser Strong."

"Isn't it? Father's served long and faithfully, but perhaps it is time for a new guidance. Lyonel Strong is a smart man - qualified, even!"

"Yes," she agreed, turning to face you in a shimmering emerald gown. "But this is still an injustice to our family that I fear I cannot overlook any longer. It's been weeks..."

"Yes," you allotted, nodding with a sigh. "All right, yes, you are right, sweet sister. This is all just - it's a lot to take in, to try and digest. And we talk of playing a game with the Throne - I do not think we've the strength to endure alone."

"This is not about Lyonel Strong, sister! It's about Father and the disrespect the Crown continues to offer. Remember that," she advised softly.

You nodded, "I know, sister."

She frowned, "And remember... They aren't our kin. Despite previous displays of kindness, the Targaryens have made it clear that we are not family to them. They are not blood to us, sister; they will protect their own, not us. If we wish to survive, we will need to ally ourselves."

"I understand," you told your younger sister. "I am not arguing, I know what our reality is now - I merely implore to explore the routes that won't label us as traitors."

"I know, we have much to discuss going forward. But none of that for now," she took a long breath, smiling as she looked you up and down, complimenting, "you look stunning. Truly, you might outshine the bride tonight."

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to that, and that The Princess has a mature bone in her body - though I do not hold out hope." You smiled at her, "But enough about me, you look - you look like a Queen, sister-dearest. Gods, you're gorgeous, you look just like Mummy." The two of you shared an emotional, watery smile; embracing tightly as reality settled in your guts: it was you two Hightower Ladies against the whole of the Targaryen clan. "Come," you decided, taking a deep breath, "are we ready to go? Any later and I fear we might not get any cake."

"Oh, you and cake," she smirked, looking you over in a matching emerald, lighter-weight gown that had layers of thin fabrics clinging and dripping from your form. Golden jewelry was clasped around both your necks, wrists, tight around your fingers, and plugged into your ear piercings.

The Queen took your arm and left the dressing chambers you took refuge in, coming to a gasping halt when you were greeted by a well-groomed man in green velvet. "Father," Alicent exclaimed in shock.

"My daughters," he smiled, offering both arms, "I do believe we are now fashionably late. Hmm?"

"Exactly as we intended," you mused, taking his arm. "How is this possible? How are you here?"

"I was invited, if you believe that," Otto answered, the three of you walking slowly. "Though, I suspect your sister had something to do with that?"

"I only told Viserys I'd be deeply offended if you were ignored for this event," Alicent quipped.

"None the less, I am happy to escort my daughters to such a historic event," he spoke diplomatically, aware of the guards and servants milling around. Otto lead the way to the Throne Room - where you could hear King Viserys' echoing speech from the foyer.

None of you spoke, approaching the open doors and pausing to let everyone see the united Hightowers. Alicent wore her dark auburn locks pulled back from her face to cascade in thick ringlets down her back, your own Hightower-red hair left down around your face with the longer locks pinned off your neck. The entire room - the entire court - all wedding attendees and royal procession stared at you three in shock for entering during the King's speech. Your statement was clearly made.

Even from this distance, you could see how startled Rhaenyra was by your arrival, needing to fight off a smirk of amusement in order to keep your neutral façade.

You and Alicent walked arm-in-arm with your father, the once-Hand, down the stairs and up the aisle of banquet tables full of people, staring forward and giving no emotion away. The people buzzed in quiet gossip. The attending Hightowers of Oldtown, sitting closest to the royal banquet table because of their relation to the current Queen, stood first; everyone else following in a show of respect.

You and Alicent paused to let Otto sit with his relatives at the lower banquet table before joining arm-and-arm together. Over the muttering of the entire room, you whispered almost mutely, "Be kind, remain composed, we'll kill 'em with kindness."

Alicent gave a subtle flex to give indication she understood.

When you looked up at the table you approached under the King's heavy glare, you noticed there was an empty chair between Ser Strong and... Prince Daemon? Was that really him? When did he get here? Why was he back? It's only been a few weeks!

Your shock did not slow you, and as you approached the table reserved for the Royal Family, you saw Daemon smirking at your theatrics. Alicent did not let you part from her side as she greeted Princess Rhaenyra with a sickly-sweet voice, "Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you."

She ignored any other reaction to let go of your arm, kiss her husband's cheek in greeting, stand beside him, in front of her chair, and stare forward with zero other emotion.

"Congratulations, Princess," you whispered, bowing your head. "Your Grace," you acknowledged, doing the same and taking the empty chair between Lord Hand and Rogue Prince only to stoically stare forward in silence. You did as Alicent did, not looking at any other, and just waiting for a pregnant moment that seemingly never ended.

"Please be seated," Viserys finally permitted, everyone sitting at his behest. He cleared his throat, whispering to Lyonel Strong, "Where was I?"

"The joining of the two Houses, Your Grace."

You swallowed when a warm hand laid on your right thigh, Viserys continuing his speech. You glanced at Daemon, seeing his smirk, and instead of throwing his hand off you, you laid your own over his to give a long squeeze. You had wrestled with the idea of his favorite whore, Mysaria, and the idea of whatever he did with Princess Rhaenyra for weeks. Then when you heard word that his wife, Lady Rhea Royce, had met her untimely end, you knew he was involved, yet said nothing. You could only think deeply about what it all meant - and how you fit into the equation that was Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Tell me every terrible thing you ever did...

All you could understand was the overwhelming affection you held for him. His shocked-wide-eyes found yours for a long moment, seeming communicating telepathically - you telling him you wanted him. His hand tightened to keep hold of yours, hidden from the public for the time being.

And let me love you anyway...

You tuned back into the King's speech in time to clap with the others, showing your support of the union you technically helped influence between Targaryen and Velaryon.

However, you caught the way Alicent glared at Rhaenyra, sighing to yourself; having heard through long private dinners what Alicent came to know and why this upset her so much. How strange to learn Ser Criston Cole admitted to Ali that he was coerced into soiling the Princess' purity - not her Uncle Daemon, like rumored. Yet none the less, the girl had sworn on her beloved, dearly departed mother to Alicent that she was still a maiden... A huge, glaring lie - that both you and Ali took personally.

You found all of this terribly interesting, yet did not let the distain show so boldly. After Daemon came to you in confession, you had yet to speak a word outside of public politeness to the Princess; feeling betrayed by what your lover had told you. He had been right: you were Rhaenyra's friend, she wasn't yours. So, you demoted yourself to create distance.

When the drums rumbled and the Princess took to the dance floor with her intended, you spared Daemon a look and muttered, "You do not have to look so annoyed."

"I'm not, sweet one."

"Nor so amused," you tacked on.

Daemon smirked at you, leaning in and pondering, "I am only wondering if you would care for a dance later, my Lady?"

You lied, speaking in a teasing tone, "I'm not one for dancing, my Prince."

"A single dance with me, then. Just one, pretty lady."

"You're pushy," you whispered, nudging him to keep quiet; but the grin on your lips assured him you were completely enraptured by his antics.

He sat back with a smirk, watching his niece and her fiancé dance. The entire courtroom clapped at the end, others flooding to the spaces around them. You glanced over as your sister stood from her seat, meeting your eyes and offering only a soft smile before descending from the table to approach your aunt and uncle from Oldtown - standing with your father on the side of the room. You sighed under your breath, your lover tightening his grip on your thigh.

Daemon made for a great distraction. "Did you hear the news?" He asked softly, reaching for his goblet of wine with his free hand.

"Which news would that be, my Prince?" You asked casually, pretending your heart wasn't hammering in your chest.

"Of my dear wife's passing."

"I did, actually," you fought off your smirk. "I am truly sorry to hear of it, I understand Lady Rhea was truly one of a kind. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, love," you reminded in a whisper.

"Hmm. Don't be sorry, I'm not," he eased.

"You're not? Your wife died, Daemon..."

"I know," he met your gaze, "I'm not sorry because now it gives me vocation to follow my own desires."

You smirked, "Which desire will you follow first?"

His hand tightened to a bruising grip. He was not able to answer yet because your gaze was caught by movement, Rhea Royce's cousin approaching slowly, evidently a cup or two deep in the wine; making you remove Daemon's hand so you both could sit casually - without touching.

The man gruffly leered at Daemon, "In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes." Your lover spared you an exasperated look as he tacked on, "Even Targaryens."

"Who are you?" Daemon asked dully.

"This is Ser Gerold Royce, my Prince," you told him softly, "of Runestone."

Daemon perked his brow, asking sarcastically, "An excellent show of your knowledge, my sweet lady, but what does that matter to me?"

You didn't answer, Ser Lyoel Strong (who was listening in) didn't answer, because Ser Gerold was approaching the table by climbing the stairs. He growled at Daemon, "I am cousin to your late Lady wife."

"Ah, yes... Terrible thing," Daemon offered. "I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident."

"You know better than anyone, it was no accident."

Through a smirk, Daemon quipped, "Are you confessing some guilt, Ger Gerold?"

"I am making an accusation."

You shared a look with Lyonel to your left, catching sight of the King's turned head - showing he was listening, too. Daemon easily deflected, "Here, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you." This angered Ser Gerold visibly, the man stepping closer, but obviously restrained himself. Your lover continued, "The truth is I'm glad you've come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance."

"What inheritance?" Ser Gerold demanded.

"Lady Rhea and I had no heirs. As her husband, whatever she was due now passes to me. She stood to inherit all of Runestone. Did she not?" Daemon had Ser Gerold pinned by legality, the man looking disturbed by his own realization. So, naturally, Daemon taunted, "After my niece's wedding, I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself. Perhaps I'll see you there, Ser Gerold."

The man sheepishly walked away, his inebriated mind whirling with possibilities. You glared, pinching Daemon's arm so you could scold him when he turned to face you, "That wasn't very kind."

"And?"

"You don't truly care for Runestone," you snapped. "Now that man will fear for his home, fret over the laws, and that's not very nice."

He sighed, "What would you have me do, sweet one?"

"Leave House Royce to grieve and rearrange their succession without your pettiness."

Daemon smirked, "Whatever my Lady wants."

"You're dreadfully annoying tonight, do you know that?" You whined. "I'm going for a dance, and no, this is not an invitation to follow," you warned him - albeit playfully - before standing to excuse yourself.

"Sister," Alicent paused you before you could pass her by. "Are you well?"

"Yes, yes, just felt like dancing, too much energy to just sit. Come join - "

"No, no, I should sit. Eat," she smiled. "Perhaps tonight will be when you meet your match and we can plan another wedding."

"Perhaps," you mused, squeezing her hand. "You all right? What did Father and Uncle say?"

"Later," she whispered. "Go on, go."

You joined the stream of people dancing, instantly grinning when you were welcomed joyfully by different suitors. The band played a lively beat, the crowd cheering in rhythm; you being twirled around men and women with matching grins.

You heard your name being cheered through a small giggle.

"Hi, Princess," you greeted Rhaenyra as you both marched along to the beat. You reminded yourself this was all a game and if you wanted to survive, you'd have to play your part strategically. So, you quipped as you danced with Ser Arryn Blackwell, "Nice party you've got, huh?"

"Oh, you know how we Targaryens do," she teased. "Where've you been lately? I feel as if I've hardly seen you."

"Just busy with chores since Father was replaced as Hand," you answered, spinning under someone's arm.

Nyra didn't comment on that, instead, waiting a few moments before complimenting, "That's a beautiful dress, really goes with your hair!"

"That's what I hoped for," you gasped girlishly, deciding to play nice when she reached for your hands. You felt weak for a moment, but the truth was, you missed your friend... So, you might've giggled a bit when you joined hands, dancing together instead of with anyone else. With kindness, you offered, "You look gorgeous, as well, Princess, I love this dress - "

"Yes, yes, we all look fantastic," Daemon interrupted abruptly, crowding over you, asking quickly, "can I speak to you a moment, my Lady? The Princess won't mind, right, Rhaenyra?"

"Uh, no, I guess..." She eyed the two of you with suspicion as she stayed in-beat with the music.

"Daemon, not now - "

"We need to talk," he pulled you from where you danced, glancing back at the head banquet table as he took your hand, and lead you deeper into the crowd. He turned you to face him, pacing a small circle around you, demanding, "Do you still want to marry me?"

"What? Why are you asking now?"

"Because I just asked your father for permission," he seethed, pausing in front of you, "and he outright refused, saying he's negotiating with the fucking Lannisters. I need to know what you want."

"I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you, the man who views marriage as a political arrangement," you eyed him with a curled lip of annoyance.

"What arrangement could I want? Your sister is Queen, my family is bound to the Hightowers already. My political marriage is recently dissolved, I am free to do as I please, regardless of what others want or say - "

"Then tell me what you want. Tell me plainly what you want from me, Daemon, no more pretty words and veiled truths. Be plain."

"You said I had a year, and look - it's been weeks. Weeks, my love, how much more plain can I be? I'm here, now, free to marry, and I need to know if you still want to marry me. I'll marry you tomorrow - "

"Oh, please! Would you steal me away?" You mocked with a chuckle. "Take me to Dragonstone? Make me your little wife that you'll come to resent, too? Just as you did Rhea?"

He reached out to aggressively hold your cheek and jaw. "I had no choice in my first marriage, I could never come to resent you - you're all I've ever wanted. I'd do anything for you," Daemon snarled over your lips, "including risking your father's wrath. I'd do anything to make sure we end up together, you are my heart - do not forget that."

"Then pull out your sword, cut them all down," you purred, feeling his hand tighten, "and claim me as your own - do not let anyone stop us."

His lips hovered over yours, breathing the same air, and before he could respond or kiss you, a woman screamed shrilly from behind you. Daemon instantly latched onto your body as a crowd formed to your left and right, and when you both looked, you were shocked to see the commotion happening at your feet.

"Love - "

"Daemon," you paused him, shocked as Ser Criston Cole was engaged in a fist fight with some Velaryon knight before Ser Laenor Velaryon, the groom, was tackling him to the side. What an interesting display of protectiveness from Ser Laenor over his knight.

Daemon rushed in your ear, "Do not look - come away with me."

"Wait," you held his hands to your waist, letting him crowd into your back as Cole had punched Laenor to the side and straddled the blonde on the floor once more.

He landed one blow before the knight was brandishing a dagger; but the White Cloak caught his arm and easily snapped it broken, startling the crowd. Beyond your ring of spectators, other men were trading blows and engaged in their own fights; total chaos taking over the whole of the Throne Room. You flinched back into Daemon's embrace when Cole screamed like a wild man in the mountains, repeatedly pounding his fist into the knight's face; literally caving it in, creating a human minced meat pie.

Someone better contact Mrs. Lovett!

"No more," Daemon decided, Cole rearing himself back as Daemon stooped to heave you over his shoulder. He was able to find safe (enough) passage through the people, approaching the royal banquet table. "Hey, hey," he whispered, setting you down and taking your face in his hands, the wailing of Laenor Velaryon seeing his murdered knight echoing in the Throne Room. "You all right? You hurt? Look at me, love, are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm okay," you whispered, swallowing unsurely; reaching up to hold his wrists. "I'm okay."

"Sure? You shouldn't have seen that - "

"It's all right," you assured, stroking his wrists. "I'm okay, Daemon, truly. Just... A little startled, maybe?"

"What's this then?" Harwin Strong smirked, panting lightly from his rescue mission as the Princess was attending her father, the King. "You two hit it off then, yeah? Is it me or are sparks flying?"

"Something like that," you whispered, trying to regulate your breathing after the adrenaline-inducing scrimmage.

"Easy does it, love," Daemon whispered, keeping you close as you didn't let go of his hands; wanting to stay connected. He told Harwin, giving a half-shrug, "They aren't sparks. She's everything to me."

"Perhaps your second wedding will go better than this one," Harwin sighed, hands on his hips.

"In some cultures, deaths at a wedding are considered good luck," you muttered, Daemon snorting lightly in amusement before running his thumbs over your cheekbones in soothing gestures.

"Didn't your wife just pass, Prince Daemon?" Your father demanded publicly with a heavy glare. "You'd offer insult to her memory by remarrying so quickly?"

"I've grieved Lady Rhea plenty, Ser Hightower, it's time to look to the future," Daemon declared, eyes daring your father to challenge him. "The Lady Hightower and I will wed. The sooner, the better, in truth."

And history would never be the same.

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded, whirling around at the news, making all others pause in confusion. "What did you say?"

"That I intend to marry the Lady Hightower."

"Her? Her? Fucking her - who is more prude than woman?!"

Well, that was mildly offensive...

"Rhaenyra - "

"What makes you think you're worthy?" She demanded of you, turning from her father to stalk across the platform. "Worthy of a man like Daemon, of a husband like Daemon? You've done nothing to - to deserve such a title! The title of Princess, of wife!"

You were honestly confused to your core.

"I deserve a man like he - not someone like you!" She continued, shocking the group as the Kingsguard cleared the Room of any lingering stragglers to keep this as private as possible. "You think I didn't see you on my tour? You were fawned over, all wanted to talk with you, but were forced to line up for me! You rejected them all on your own, and now I see why! You wanted to wait until the Lady Rhea passed, which makes me wonder - what part did you play in that?"

"Rhaenyra!" You gasped.

"What? Honestly, it would make sense - the day Daemon's banished, you weren't seen! I wouldn't be shocked if you were seen somewhere lurking in the Vale! You cannot have it all - you've always wanted my life, and now look! You have to have what I have, and now you've taken a liking to my uncle after our scandal! What? He wasn't interesting before? You heard rumors about us and decided you wanted him for yourself? Just because he was mine first? You just want to be me, you always have - you've always reeked of jealousy! This is all you wanted, to steal my family, and - "

"That's enough," Daemon tried. "You are out of turn here, Rhaenyra, do not make this worse."

"Why? Because little Lady Hightower's façade of being a respectable, pure woman is now tarnished?"

"We share one dance, albeit intimate, sit next to each other at a single dinner, shared some conversation, and you now think it's appropriate to call my virtue into question? What of your own, Princess? You just admitted to scandal with Daemon - but I wonder why the service of Moon Tea if your virtue was unimpeachable?" You demanded, feeling defensive on a new level. Even Alicent straightened up at your words.

However, Daemon rushed to add, "With all due respect, Princess, I don't want you, and you can't claim me as your own when you never had me. You might be angry, but it is no use to take it out on my intended, she is of rare stock and breed - she will not be questioned. Nor will my intentions with her."

Rhaenyra snarled, "Yeah? You don't want me? Well, you wanted me enough to try and fuck me at that whorehouse!"

There were gasps and murmurs all around, but Rhaenyra was glaring at you and Daemon, still standing together. His arms actually dropped to hold your waist, keeping you close as he snarled at his niece, "But I didn't. If memory serves right, I walked away!"

"You wanted me!" Rhaenyra raged. "You always were and always will be mine - regardless of the whores you bed in the meantime! And I want you, I am not yet married - "

"Yet I will not be who marries you, I am betrothed to another," Daemon reminded with a venomous tone. "There's nothing you offer that I want, Rhaenyra."

"I am not some inexperienced little girl anymore, I'm a woman grown, and I could do more for you than she ever could!"

"Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared.

Everyone knew she had gone too far and there was no coming back from any this. After a beat, Alicent stepped in as if questioning for the first time, "And yet, sister, you said the Princess was served Moon Tea? If Prince Daemon did not touch the Princess, does this mean she still," she scoffed as if the idea were absurd, "sullied her maidenhood? Before marriage?"

It should be noted that Ser Criston Cole was already gone from the hall at this time. In fact, he lingered just outside a side door, listening, in case his name came up. When Alicent spoke, he straightened up and started the slow trek to the Godswood.

"Ser Lyonel? Do I misunderstand?" Alicent pulled the Hand into the fray.

"Well, that's what that would sound like, Your Grace," he agreed begrudgingly. "Moon Tea is beneficial to prevent unwanted consequences outside of marriage."

"From what I understand, she was served by Grand Maester Mellos himself," you told Ali, minds strung together by a common thread. "The castle likes to gossip, you can learn a lot if you just listen."

"This is..." Viserys seethed, "Unacceptable."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," you instantly apologized.

"No, no," he deflected, hand held up, "you have a duty to the Realm to flesh out any deception. And this," he directed his glare at his daughter, "is a grand deception that cannot be undone, unknown, covered-up, anymore, Rhaenyra!"

There was a meltdown. Everyone began yelling.

Viserys was enraged. Rhaenyra was desperately trying to plead with her father. Lord Corlys was demanding to know what the hell was about to happen with the impending marriage to "the future Queen". Ser Strong was trying to keep the people from each other's throats.

His sons stood to the side and just let them all fight.

Daemon kept you out of the line of fire, away from the action; sighing as you deflated into his chest. Over it all, Viserys' voice was angriest, and you heard, "You are no daughter of mine! The position you have put me in tonight - I cannot undo this, Rhaenyra! I should have never disinherited Daemon for you, breaking centuries of tradition because I wanted to see your mother in you! You have spat in my face around every bend, but this? This is unforgivable, we will not recover from this and I will no longer endure your insolence!"

"Father, please, let me - "

"No," he snarled, "I have had it with your disresepct the past several years, this is beyond any scale." You blinked up at Daemon, his lips curving down as his hands tightened around your form. And then, Viserys said the words, "I made a mistake naming you my heir. You may marry Ser Laenor, if you so choose to, but after that, you will reside on Driftmark with your husband - you will no longer inherit the Iron Throne after me."

"Father!"

"No," he snapped, "you've exhausted my patience, Rhaenyra!" Viserys roared. "And while Daemon might be unpredictable, the woman he wants to marry is not - and from where I am standing, she will make a far better Queen than you!"

It was quiet as everyone forgot their own selfish woes as father disinherited daughter.

"Your Grace," your father tried to step in, "with respect, why not place your son, Aegon, in line after you?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods, Otto," Rhaenyra raged, rounding on your father, "give up this campaign, you get all you want and more! Your daughter is Queen now and your other daughter will be Queen after that, aren't you listening? Your grandchildren will still inherit the Throne!"

"That's it," Viserys breathed, needing to hold onto the banquet table for balance as all eyes turned to him again. "It's time to do what I should've done all along. Rhaenyra," he shook his head, "I can no longer have you as my heir, this type of behavior cannot stand. I will give you permission to marry Ser Laenor, and if he chooses not to, I will allow you to reside on Dragonstone until a match is made. Until then," his eyes shifted to where you and Daemon stood, "I name my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, as my Heir to the Iron Throne."

"You would not name your son?" Alicent asked in mild disbelief.

"No," Viserys told her, "no, I would see my brother as my heir. Should Aegon prove to live up to his namesake, we can talk about succession again, but I know my brother is capable... And though he might be overly wanting, he will learn patience, because I know the love of a good woman can change a man for the better."

You smiled, feeling emotional for a moment, but Daemon asked for you both, "Brother, do you mean to give your blessing?"

"Of course," he nodded once, "why waste a good wedding tourney? We shall announce on the morrow our new intentions - to crown Daemon as heir and marry him to the Lady Hightower. This matter," he panted, glaring at everyone, "is resolved, I will not hear more. Make the preparations!"

It happened in slow motion. Rhaenyra's rage flared to a temperamental height previously unknown; lunging to seize her father's Valyrian Steel, prophesy-engraved dagger, turn, and charge straight for you as the remaining audience shouted in panic. You felt Daemon try to push you behind him, but instead, your own temper flared and you stepped up to meet Rhaenyra; catching both her arms to hold her at bay.

Daemon was at your flank if you needed him, otherwise, he kept the Kingsguard away from you two - knowing this needed to happen now. Or else something worse would happen later...

"For fuck's sake, Princess! What is this? Jealousy? Huh?" You asked through your tears, struggling to hold your old friend's weight away from you. "What is this jealousy, Nyrie, hmm?"

"Don't call me that," she grit. You just sighed, pushing her back a little but not enough to overpower her; the girl's anger making her stronger than you would've previously guessed. "You've gone too far," she seethed through tears.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the Kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please! Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!"

"You think you finally get my life, huh?" She snarled. "You won't ever be accepted - not as Queen - not as part of this family! You've wanted this all along! Haven't you!?" She struggled against you, hands sweating. "You've always wanted my life, that's why you stuck around! Your mother died - so you tried to take a place in my family, make them yours - and now, look! You're nearly there! Pouncing on my uncle the moment he's widowed!" She snarled, bearing her teeth.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are, Nyrie," you whispered with a broad smirk.

"You aren't fit to play this part! To have my life! You'll never be accepted as their Princess!"

"I wager I'll do a better job than you ever could," you hissed. "There's not much to live up to, you don't leave a lot of room to fill."

She screamed when Ser Harwin's arms seized around her waist, but the momentum of him pulling her back and Rhaenyra's thrashing cause the Valyrian Steel dagger to slice your forearm. You yelped and reared back amongst the startled gasps and panicked murmurs from the crowd, Daemon catching you. The dagger clattered to the floor as Harwin backed up several paces to keep the belligerent girl at bay. You whimpered quietly at the sting, a pool of blood forming to the side you held your arm at.

"Fuck's sake," Daemon growled, "lemme see, lemme see, my love, c'mere," he winced, looking around before using his own belt to yank free and tourniquet around your lower elbow. "You're bleeding a good bit," he whispered, "you'll need stitches, sweet one."

You pouted at him, wincing again in pain when he tightened the belt.

Around you, the Kingsguard was ordered to escort Rhaenyra to her chambers, and the moment she was marched out of sight, Daemon was warning his brother that she knew about her secret passage door and parts of the tunnels.

Go stand watch," a personal guard was ordered by the King. "Someone go - go find Ser Cole - I want him posted in the Princess' passage, he's trusted to us."

Alicent slunk off to do exactly that, and she'd tell you later that Cole was found only moments from taking his own life. He was overjoyed to hear the King had requested him personally to stand guard for such a sensitive situation.

In the meantime, Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, thought it best their son not marry Rhaenyra; now that she had been disowned, she was less appealing. Viserys was free to offer her again later if Laenor was not married in that time and if she showed true change, but after tonight, nobody thought that possible.

Daemon tried helping your wound, your father approaching as he laid a clean cloth over the cut. Your lover tisked, "It's deeper than I thought. We should get this looked at."

"A moment," Otto prevented.

"If it would please you, this is not an injury I'd like to wait to attend to," Daemon sighed, nodding at your bloodied forearm that he held.

"I only meant to say, you have my blessing to marry, my Prince," Otto nodded at him. "Seeing the kindness you show my daughter, I feel... Content knowing she will be loved and cared for."

"Thank you," Daemon nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Father, but we really must be going, this doesn't feel very nice," you rushed to explain, watching him nod and eye your injury with worry.

"This way," He even instructed, a few handmaids rushing forward to help herd you away.

"Doing all right, love?" Daemon muttered as you walked.

"Bit shocked," you admitted.

"I'd say," he mused.

"It burns," you pouted at him.

"We'll get everything tended to, you'll feel better soon," he soothed.

You peaked up at his worried brow, pouted lips, darting eyes; whispering, "You're heir, again, Daemon."

"So it would seem," he deadpanned. "Can we not talk about it now?" He requested quietly, "I only wish to see to this wound of yours."

You nodded, and once in Mellos' chamber, you were left alone with your father - since Daemon was not yet your husband. Otto was silent as your forearm was stitched carefully; the bleeding staunched, herbs stuffed in the wound to prevent pain and promote healing. As you let Mellos wrap you in gauze, you glanced at your father.

"So... Your blessing, is it?"

"He's different with you already," he nodded stiffly. "And after his nieces' display tonight, I can think of no better future Queen."

"I do not wish to talk about future station, Father, but instead, that... That Daemon makes me happy and I am relieved you have given us your blessing. It would've felt very wrong to marry without my father in attendance."

Otto wasn't affectionate in the least bit, but he showed his love by doing his best to understand situations before passing judgement. It created a sense of trust and security between father and daughter. So, he asked earnestly, "And you will overlook what he did with Princess Rhaenyra?"

"He told me of it all the morning after it happened, I've had time to think, and I've had time away from him. I know what I want, Father, and while Viserys has changed history - again - tonight by naming Daemon heir, I know he is the man I want for the rest of my life."

"I see," he nodded. "Then... By all means, I will see this union happen."

"Thank you," you whispered, the Maester tying the gauze. "Thank you, Grand Maester," you spoke calmly.

"Of course, uh, um, Princess."

"I don't think I'll get used to hearing that," you whined, standing off his table. "Will you talk to Daemon for me, Father? I think you need to clear the air... I will not say the King will instill you as Hand again, but if I am to marry the Prince, I will need there to be peace between our families."

He nodded, opening the door for you, "It will be arranged, my daughter..."

As Otto took his leave, Daemon, pacing the hall, approached you. He took hold of your waist, asking, "Are you all right?" You let him hold your injured wrist in a soft grip, viewing the wrappings.

"Yes, Your Grace," you teased, watching his pale face flush.

"Don't start with that."

"Mellos just called me Princess."

"You are," he grinned. "And we will be married in less than a week's time."

"I can hardly wait," you whispered, letting his lips find yours in a searing show of rare public affection.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

 How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.  

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.  

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.  

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.  

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.  

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.  

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.” 

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.  

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.  

[sabrondabrainrot]

🌦️Dark Sun and 🔅Servant Sun

I tried my hand at designing Servant Sun and Dark Sun.

I'm getting more caught up on the lore!! Click underneath for art closeups and more Lore rants and AU idea! Plus, I have sketches and a comic WIP I've been working on.

😉

There will be rambly spoilers to where I am in the Lore.

For Dark Sun I was inspired a lot by the thumbnails, they give him red eyes a lot in the thumbnails and I like the smarmy red eyed look of the guy. Tried to capture his 'regal-holier then thou' attitude in his design. He's still Sun though, so I used OG Sun's palette (my first Sun design!) to reflect the fact they have the same beginnings. I don't trust anything he says but I know something has totally happened to his Moon (I'm really banking on the idea he ATE him/ ATE his intelligence chip) so he carries his Moon's bell and he also repurposed the star pattern of Moon to parade it around as like a symbol his Moon is at his heal. I don't know if I like his final look but I think it's because I gave him dramatically darker shading vs the other Suns.

Servant Sun! Here's my take on him. He's been suffering for over 10000+ years under Lord Eclipse abuse. We saw how he was being punished just because Lore Eclipse was bored! I feel really bad for this Sun, it was hard to draw a design for him. I think despite his servant title Lord Eclipse just keeps him around not only to keep himself sane but also a trophy/slave to show off to Moon and the others in the afterlife. I had this like monologue for SSun basically, "The sound of bells long ago stopped ringing for the daycare attendant turned servant but Lord Eclipse still can hear the sound of metallic chimes when the neurotic servant cleans thanks to his fanciful additions." (aka the chime of chains) He's also got an apron that's falling apart and SSun used random old fabric to patch it up (it wasn't random it was his old clothes). I was really inspired by Meagancandraw's design of Servant Sun!

Here's my AU sketches. I'm planning to clean these up and maybe color them? This is basically just the AU idea that I think Sun is going to somehow get reborn but be a being reborn from star power and negative star power? I don't know if it's possible? He becomes a mix of the two in my AU. I know some current spoilers and basically I know he may be immune to negative star energy? He can also hold Star Power uniquely and it 'taste good to him'. I will never let go of the fact he told Moon it taste nice like dried watermelon. His untrained magical outburst was also compared to be as powerful as Golden Freddy's. There's big theory he's going to die or be sacrificed but I have this idea what if he's essentially remade? idk just rambly thoughts. So yeah, he has a cool new look to go with his magical transformation.

BTW he is very sad cause he can't be near his family in this AU my brain cooked up. He's basically radiation incarnate now <3 His eyes are cracked because they're intensely pouring out Star/Negative Star power. Just a constant pull and push of power circulating in him.

this is the comic idea I have currently. I don't have a ton of motivation so any encouragement to finish this comic idea would be super appreciated! I'm not a comic-type artist so this is out of my comfort zone (I've made a few comics but usually they are pretty janky)

ON TO THE RAMBLES - spoilers BEWARE:

NEW MOON MY BOY PLS YOU ARE HIDING STUFF FROM YOUR FAMILY. BOY NO. HE IS GONNA USE RUIN TO BRING BACK SOLAR?

Blood Moon just took Ruin. Also Dark Sun repaired Ruin after Molten took him to die in the dead dimension?? BOY??? Also, Dark Sun did something to Eclipse??? Bro is plotting. I wish I could get a read on Dark Sun but I don't even know how much of the truth he's been sharing thus far. He has no reason to tell anyone the truth and so far he hasn't hurt anyone just stole a bunch of data from Moon and built a bunker to escape total dimension collapse...He's just a big wild card for me.

Then there's New Moon, He's just actually going crazy after meeting Old Moon. Sun can tell something is wrong with his brother!!! I hope he can help him but spoilers tells me otherwise. The family is trying! Earth heard out Eclipse and Eclipse is getting Earth proof that Moon is currently cray-cray. Lunar is kind of hanging near Sun and Earth because the creator is now actively trying to kidnap him. So much spicy drama.

I don't pay attention much to the Freddy side of the plot but he's also dying?? bro??? What about Francine? The missing mom/wife? Poor Francine's suffering, she needs her mom and dad! I like that Puppet is hanging around her grandchild more it is very sweet. Foxy also got his 'bestfriend' Puppet a house/condo. hmm-Mmmhmm. Definitely no romantic tensions there. Definitely not.

(side bar, I don't ship Kidscove but I do ship the Foxy and Puppet do they have a ship name? Also no hate to Kidscove I just think Foxy treats Sun like a kid a lot. I like the gooseworld Kidscove. Sun laid eggs, so wholesome.)

Lunar is just waiting for news on his trial and I am in suspense hoo boy...Then the stuff with FC being put in a new body and Frank is not happy about it. I def can tell there's big lead up to the astral bodies making a big move I just wonder what the move will be. I feel like now Lunar and FC are going to end up being more intwined then they might think.

Also I love Dazzle!!! AAAGH! She and Jack are so cute! I loved the ep Sun took Dazzle and Lunar to the store that was so sweet. Can't wait to see more of them! They're such a cute dynamic! I like seeing Lunar put his best foot forward to help Dazzle too.

I can tell Moon is slowly distancing himself from the others but it's like this odd thing where he's no longer obsessed with Solar being back per sei...but he's obsessed over how HE has to be the one to bring Solar back in his way because HE promised and he wants to be better then Old Moon and yeah...he's got a very warped perspective I feel like? But Molten and Ruin BOTH pointed out Moon is being possessed by something so I think he's definitely sick? Or something is keeping him from seeing the error of his way.

Rambles over :)

I do plan to draw Solar and Eclipse and Lord Eclipse next but I'm stuck on what I want to do for Solar's design :P I might make a poll in the future!

[elvisabutler]

she's there watching for me

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 2593 warnings: p in v sex ( unprotected ). insecurity regarding weight. the word fat being used in the narrative. implied breastfeeding kink. light sub elvis. mommy kink. light dom reader. implication that elvis is girthier than normal when he hasn't had release in a while. brief mention of pills/detoxing. elvis is a selkie. bit of fingering. use of the words mama and baby boy. a hefty chunk of belly worship. author’s note: welcome to day 3 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, mommy kink with selkie elvis presley x reader. so for context i feel like i need to make it clear, so the original selkie au i wrote was set pretty much in a timeframe of about 1971 to 1973. basically allowed y'all to read it and decide which age you wanted elvis at. i erred more toward '73 in my mind mostly because that was pretty close to 40 and i had made the comment in the fic about him being surprised he got that close to forty. that being said, this means the more time that passed in the universe the closer i was getting to 1977. i— have never intended this to have a sad ending. honestly if y'all must know out of all the series i've inadvertently written, this has the most gentle ending other than spark for elvis as far as when he eventually dies. so this takes place in an alternate 1978 where elvis is still alive and is about big daddy build. there is also a hint to the future breastfeeding kink fill and a little surprise in here. know that— the fact that a certain name does not have the middle name attached to it is important. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. beyond that long winded author's note, special thanks to @stylespresleyhearted and @eliseinmemphis for being my feral little gremlins. to @prompted-wordsmith for being seal!!! always and to my discord wives, birdy, christi and marina, y'all know i love you till the end of time. also once again, i really do love how y'all liked this and received it and live to see your thoughts on my writing.

"Mama." A sleepy murmur leaves Elvis's lips, a pout firmly planted on them as he feels your side of the bed. It's empty and starting to chill, a common occurrence when you're not occupying it. You always forget that he's a bit of a light sleeper until a certain hour of the night when you think his brain and body finally shut off. That hour of the night was at least two hours away but you were for once experiencing your own sleeping issues caused by one Lisa Marie, one John Baron and one little Jesse. A bit of a bug had found itself circulating around the younger three in the house and you found yourself taking care of your little seal pups. After all you were if nothing else, a good seal wife. A good seal wife who happens to be sneaking into your own bedroom like a guilty woman.

"You should have already been sleeping. Didn't you keep telling me how exhausted you were?" You ask, sliding into bed next to Elvis, your hand cupping his face. "I think you dozed off on the way home from the concert."

Elvis can't help but flush a bit in embarrassment as he looks at you, trying to come up with some excuse. "Can't— Feel all keyed up...ya know how I get 'fter a show. Can't go swimmin' to burn it off." He licks his lips, watching the way your chest moves up and down in your nightgown, "jus' worried 'bout how the paper's gonna talk 'bout me."

"It's Memphis, Elvis. They're not going to talk about you like everyone else, you're their son. Honorary King of the city," your hands move to his front, brushing against his stomach, marveling at the feel of the silk of his pajama top and how it reminds you of his skin. "That why you're wearing a shirt to bed? Hiding it away from me?"

It meaning his stomach. Elvis looks away and shrugs. "Mama— don't. I know 'm still packin' on some weight." He had thought when he met you it was just his body betraying him, trying to blubber up like a true seal and it had fluctuated enough as you helped him sweat out his uppers and his downers and everything that wasn't strictly required. He thought maybe you'd get something resembling the man you met all those years ago.

But you always take such good care of him and he should have realized that when you made sure he was well fed with his pups that his own body— his genetics would rear their head and he'd stay a stocky and fat sort of man no matter what exercise he did. Damn human body seems to think he needs blubber as much as he does as as a seal.

"And? Are we not married? Did I agree to love you no matter what?" Even as you try and answer a little flippantly your eyes dart across his face and his body looking for a tell-tale sign that you pushed too hard with that retort but only see a shrug. "I know my pussy doesn't have your tongue, so Elvis— you want to answer?"

"Yes, Mama," he whispers, shifting in the bed a little at the way your tone shifts from purely loving to one that's just commanding enough that he has to focus on breathing and willing his cock to stay down. You're both exhausted but damn if lil Elvis isn't wanting to bury himself so tight in your snatch that he has no choice but to sleep afterward.

At the word Mama you feel your toes curl just a little bit at how it sounds leaving his lips. It's not the first time he's ever called you Mama, after all, you are the step mother to his daughter and the mother to his sons. There's something in his tone though, something that has your body strumming with what you've affectionately dubbed your seal wife sense that tells you something is off. This is different. "You don't have to call me Mama when we're not talking about the pups, Elvis."

Elvis's tongue darts out to lick at his lips as one of your breasts finally makes an escape from the top of your nightgown. You hear the sharp inhale of his breath before without warning his face burrows into your chest frowning at how they don't feel full of milk and pulling you close as his arms wrap around you. "Ain't callin' ya it 'cause of the pups, Mama."

A shiver passes through you at his hot breath against your chilled chest. He's not just calling you Mama because of the pups. You're— you take care of him as well as anyone would take care of a baby boy, don't you? You make sure his meds are taken, make sure no one takes advantage of him when he doesn't want to bother with particulars. You make sure everything is in tip top shape with him and everyone around you. You're his Mama too, aren't you?

Your words come out a unintentionally a little shaky, your nerves starting to get the best of you before you finally ask a simple question. "Do you want Mama to take care of you? Show you how much she loves you?"

Elvis very rarely sounds like a seal when he's in his human form. He very rarely can make the specific vocalizations he needs to in order to achieve it but sometimes even with his body in his human form, he can manage it. You swear you see a flash of his skin, almost as if he wants to shift before you hear the whimper and whine against your skin in between kisses to your chest. "Please."

Denying Elvis isn't something you're good at since you came back together and especially since you've been married. He is the love of your life, the seal to your seal wife but you need to have the control today, he needs to cede over his control to you for you to take care of him. It's with that knowledge in hand that you push him away from your chest even as you hear a growl and a whine fall from his lips. Your hands push on his chest, forcing him to lay down even as one hand moves to unbutton his shirt, exposing his chest hair to you first and then exposing his stomach— that filled out out swell that tell the story of how you're taking care of him and damn anyone who'd say anything different about it even if you know sometimes his body acts up and makes things twist and turn and hurt him. Your hands run through his chest hair as you move to kiss his lips and down his neck to his chest where you nip at both his nipples earning two short barks of surprise. When you reach his stomach you feel him shift more, his hips bucking just a little as if to distract you and get you to move down to his aching cock that you haven't even touched but is pressing against the bottom of his stomach. Precum starts to smear against the underside of his stomach and he needs you do something to it.

"Did Mama say you could move, baby boy?" You coo as you rub his stomach, hands forcing the silk of the shirt completely away and exposing his bare torso to you. "Let Mama show you how much she loves this. How she has to stop herself from grinding her beaver on it. You'd like that, wouldn't you, baby? Want Mama to come on this big stomach of yours? Have the hair on it all shiny from my come?"

As you talk you feel yourself growing more and more aroused, your underwear quickly becoming drenched despite him not even touching you. You can't help but grind a little against him, leaving a little wet spot where your nightgown and underwear block your body from his. A whimper that almost sounds like an angry growl leaves his mouth as he tries to keep himself from moving. His hands itch to grab your hips, to tear your panties off in a fit of animalistic fervor and bunch up your nightgown so he can sink his cock between your folds and feel just how drenched for him you are. What he does do is move to take off his pants only to have your hand grab at his wrist. "Patience."

"Ya teasin', Mama," he grunts out a warning, trying to act as if he's not cededing all control to you. You aren't focusing where he needs you to and that just won't do. "Gonna come in my pants if ya don't do somethin'. Wanna feel that tight—"

His words are cut off when you use the grip you have on his wrist to bring his hand to between your legs, his fingers easily gliding into your glistening cunt. The only thing that leaves his mouth is a groan of pleasure, his head falling back as he allows himself to play with your clit. You don't stop him.

"So needy, my baby boy." You tease as you maneuver to take off his pants, pulling them down just enough that you can hear the smear of his cock against his stomach. Hear how he's leaking so much already that you won't really even have to prep yourself. You had originally planned to suck at it, to put it in your mouth until it managed to stand at attention but that isn't needed tonight, is it? No, he's ready and aching and throbbing in your hand as you grip it. Your other hand moves to lift up his stomach just enough to fully expose his cock as you slide the foreskin down to reveal it in all its glory. You can't help but lick your lips and clench around Elvis's fingers.

"Christ, Mama." He curses as his cock twitches, begging to be buried inside of you. He pulls out his fingers and moves them to his mouth, watching you with hooded eyes and labored breaths as he sucks on them, tongue taking in every last bit of your juices. His fingers leave his mouth with a pop. "Taste so fuckin' sweet. Please help me out."

"Don't I always?" The words slip from your lips with a smile as Elvis's eyes look up at you through his eyelashes and he gives you the same answering smile. You take a moment to pull yourself on top of him and situate yourself before you sinking down ever so slowly. Your breathing sync up, becoming shorter as you get more and more of his cock inside you. This isn't the first time you've had sex, far from it but it's the first time Elvis has truly given you this much control over what's happening between you. A whisper of his name escapes your lips as you move down to kiss him softly at first before worrying his bottom lip between your teeth. It reminds you of your first kiss with him and from how he shakes underneath you— you think he remembers too. "Baby boy, you're— you feel bigger than normal. You've been needing Mama that bad all night? Got it all pent up inside you?"

He nods, not trusting how his voice is going to sound. Figuring it'd take on a high pitched quality it hasn't had since he was first starting out or even from before then. You might be his Mama and he's your boy that you take care of so well but— he can't let ya hear him like that. Almost as if you sense he's holding back, one of your hands moves to cup his face, brushing your fingers against his sideburns until you reach his hair. You yank just a little at some of the strands and force him to look at you. "Don't— don't hold back for mama. Let it all out, baby boy. It isn't healthy to hold back. Let me hear you while I help lil Elvis feel better."

It's then that the floodgates open, a string of curses and growls and every noise in between leaves Elvis's mouth as you bounce in his lap, clenching your cunt every so often in between bounces. Elvis's own hips can't be contained as he thrusts up against you, earning more than a few shouts from you as you feel him deeper than he ever has been. You know from how keyed up both of you are that neither of you is going to last long, but you don't want Elvis to come before you. No, you want to come on his cock, drenching it with your release before you feel his warm release coating your insides.

"Mama— gonna come. Gotta— gonna burst. Fuckin' beaver so goddamn tight and ya tits just bouncin' like that all empty, can't even suck 'em." His words are practically gibberish but you can't help but huff out a laugh even as you grab his chin and force him to look at you, his pupils blown, lips shiny with spit and forehead with a sheen of sweat.

"Not till Mama says. Be a gentleman. Be a good boy for Mama," you practically croon at him even as your voice lilts up just a little. "Mama wants to come on your cock. Can you help Mama do that?"

"Yeah, Mama, I—Wanna help ya. Do so goddamn much for me, let me—" His words get eaten up by your lips on his and the moan you let out against them when his hand moves past his belly and your own to play with your clit, the calluses on them adding just enough friction that you don't even have time to warn Elvis before your orgasm comes, your pussy squeezing his cock tighter than it ever has as your release covers his fingers and his cock. You haven't felt the warmth of his come yet, though, and you know he's being good. Being the best boy he could be for the best mama he thinks you are. You struggle to catch your breath but manage to say one word.

"Please."

Somehow he knows what you mean by the word. Somehow he knows it's you giving him permission to finally come and release every bit of tension and insecurity that's kept him up tonight. He comes with a roar— or maybe it's a bark, but all you know is that it sounds so animalistic that it had to have done something good. It had to have achieved something for him just from how you see his head flop back against the pillow as you watch his chest and belly rise and fall with deep breaths.

After what feels like a lifetime you manage to get up and use the bathroom, grabbing a warm washcloth on your way out to try and clean up the mess between you two. Elvis practically looks like he's passed out as you clean up his cock, marveling at how it twitches just a little in your grasp— almost as if to say it wants another round. When you finally slide under the covers, you feel Elvis shift beside you and pull you closer to him, to where your head is over his chest. You can hear the steady but still quick beats of his heart.

"Thank you, Mama."

That whispered bit of thanks puts a small smile on your face. "Any time for my baby boy."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7 @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @elirobin, @goldieharry. wanna be added to the taglist? go here and follow the directions. if i tagged you in this and you didn't want to be, give me a heads up/clarify what you really really don't wanna be tagged for. also if the tags messed up i'm sorry i hate tumblr sometimes because of it.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

The Grand Proposal - Part 1

Do y'all remember when I mentioned a hippie Remus x scientist Sirius one shot I was writing? Well, I've finally figured out what has screwed with my ability to finish it - there's too much of an idea to fit it into a single one shot, so here's me splitting it into two parts!!

Masterpost here!

Wednesday

“Hey, could you help me with something?” Remus asked, as Lily arranged and rearranged her expansive crystal selection. She glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. 

“Right now? I’m kind of busy working. You’re distraction enough. A welcome distraction, but still.” She corrected herself, Remus laughing lightly. 

“No, not now, but…” He trailed off, thinking carefully. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I just- I need to go ring shopping.” 

“You buy all of your rings off me, dumbass.” Remus watched her blankly for a moment. 

“Not that kind of ring; an engagement ring. For Sirius.” Lily’s eyes widened, crystals straight back out of her hands. 

“Remus!” She said excitedly, eyes sparkling. “Proposing? That’s amazing!” Remus smiled back, shrugging. 

“I love him. It’s about time. Also, he’s never going to do it, I don’t think he knows whether or not I believe in the institution of marriage.” They said calmly, Lily laughing. Remus looked at her expectantly. 

“I know fuck all about engagement rings though, so… help?” 

“Oh, right! Of course! We can go looking on Friday?” 

“I need to ask Euphemia and Fleamont, too.” 

"Why? They love you, it's not like you need to listen to tradition." She said with a slight laugh, and Remus smiled, rolling his eyes.

"I'm well aware, Lils, but I want to ask them about this."

"Right, okay, it's your proposal, sorry."

Lily’s work was pretty much abandoned after that, talking about rings. Lily was the expert, and he’d been considering proposing for such a long time, he was almost entirely sure that Sirius would say yes. 

Almost. 

The thought was still nerve wracking as fuck, but it was worth it, for Sirius. 

Sirius was worth everything. 

-

Sirius couldn’t focus. 

He had the same thoughts circulating in his mind that he really wanted to explore, desperately, more than anything else, but instead he was stuck at a fucking microscope. He had never been so irritated by a microscope in his life. It was very rare for Sirius to want to abandon his work, so he had a feeling that James would have a conversation with him if he tried. 

“Hey, Prongs?” 

He was right. James immediately glanced up at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“D’you reckon Remus… likes marriage, as a concept? Or, not likes. Appreciates? Would want?” James’ face shifted, and Sirius could feel himself turning red. 

“Thinking about marrying him?” James asked with a smile, and Sirius shushed him quickly. 

“I don’t need everybody talking about it!” Sirius whispered. The lab knew enough about the way his brain stopped working whenever Remus so much as breathed near him. “But… yeah. I’d marry them in a heartbeat, but I need to know that he’d want to first!” 

“You haven’t had this conversation?” Sirius huffed a laugh, shaking his head once. 

“No! We never really thought about it, but I- I’d love to be able to call him my spouse.” Sirius answered. 

“Well, there’s no harm in asking.” 

“What, just proposing without knowing what he’d say?” Sirius asked, confused, and James rolled his eyes. 

“No, just asking how they feel about marriage, if they’d ever want to. Then you know.” 

“Right, yeah, that works.” 

So that’s what he did. 

He waited until that evening, and brought up marriage. The two of them were sat on the sofa together, a book resting in Remus’ free hand, one arm around Sirius. He framed it like he was curious, just wondering, trying to make sure Remus didn’t figure out that he was trying to gauge if he could propose. 

“Hey, Rem?” 

“Mhm?” Remus hummed, turning and glancing at Sirius. 

“Would you ever want to get married? In the future, I mean.” He felt Remus tense, and panicked. He’d freaked Remus out, shit. In a sudden attempt to save himself, Sirius started doing what he did best. Talking. “Not that I- I didn’t mean I wanted to, necessarily, but-“ 

“Yeah.” Remus interjected. “I could see us getting married at some point. In the future.” He added on to the end, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart sunk, just a little. Not yet. 

Still, it wasn’t off the table. That was promising? 

“Yeah, yeah, the future. The distant future.” Sirius said calmly, surprisingly good at hiding his feelings. Remus nodded, resting his head on Sirius’, and the matter was dropped for the evening. 

It doesn’t mean James didn’t hear a shit ton about it the next day. 

Thursday

“Padfoot, you alright?” 

“Hm?” Sirius looked up from where he… really should have been working, zoned out. “No, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” 

“I’m assuming Remus doesn’t want to get married?” 

“No, they do, but- they said in the future.” James practically sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sirius frowned at him. 

“The future could mean literally anything, why are you moping?” 

“I’m not! I- no, I am. I’m fucking moping, god.” He dropped his head into his hands. “He didn’t even say he didn’t want to get married!” Sirius said with a groan. “I’m a loser.” He said, voice muffled by his hands. 

“I’d say that’s a sign to propose.” James answered with a shrug, sitting in the chair opposite Sirius, who moved his hands to frown at James, confused. 

“How?” 

“He didn’t say distant future, did he?” 

“Well, no, but-“ 

“The future could mean next year! Also, an engagement isn’t a marriage! If they want to get married at some point, they’ll say yes.” James shrugged. “I’ll help you plan it? I mean, you two have been together for years, it’s about time!” Sirius thought carefully for a moment. James wasn’t wrong. He loved Remus, and the future didn’t necessarily mean decades. 

“I need to get a ring, then.” 

“We can go on Saturday?” 

“Okay. And I want to talk to Hope about it.” Sirius added decisively. 

He was actually going to fucking do it. 

He was going to propose. 

Remus would never see it coming.

-

Remus dropped by Euphemia and Fleamont’s on the Thursday, while Sirius was at work. The door swung open, Remus offering Euphemia a smile as she beamed back. 

“Remus, lovely! Come in, come in!” He pulled him into a hug, and Remus still wasn’t prepared for the way the air could get knocked out of his lungs by her hugs. Still, he smiled and hugged her back, unable to stop the flood of warmth they felt towards her.

Once they had gotten in and sat in front of them, he wasn’t wasting any time. 

”So, what brings you here?” Fleamont asked, Remus somehow having ended up with a cup of tea. Christ, it was like the Potters had some kind of domestic magic Remus hadn't heard of.

“Well… I want to propose to Sirius.” He answered, watching as their eyes widened. “I know I’m not exactly… traditional.” There was literally no way on earth to define him, so that was a tad bit of an understatement. “But I did want to talk to the two of you about it first. You two mean the world to him. So I guess I’m asking for your… blessing.” They finished, turning to observe the two of them. Euphemia seemed stunned into silence, Fleamont gaining an increasingly growing smile. Okay, good signs.

“Remus, of course you have our blessing. You make Sirius happy.” Remus felt a light blush tint their cheeks, smiling back at the two of them. As much as he knew that was true, he had seen it himself plenty of times, but it didn't make it any less comforting to hear. “When are you planning on proposing?” 

“Soon.” He answered promptly. “I’m going ring shopping tomorrow.” 

He was going to propose as soon as possible. Mostly because he had an inkling that Sirius was planning the same thing, if that conversation from the night before was anything of note. They just had to hope that Sirius had been slightly put off by their injection of the word future. 

-

Sirius had a new resolve. 

He was going to propose as soon as he could. 

Honestly, he had no clue where the motivation came from; a few hours of overthinking actually seemed to have worked, for once, and he wasn’t going to complain. Instead of working for the rest of the day, he made a plan for the Saturday. Talk to Hope in the morning, then meet James at noon and look for a ring. The perfect plan… mostly. 

Apart from the fact that it meant he had to lie to Remus. 

Remus. Moony. His Moony, who he literally found it impossible to lie to. There was a time that he’d told Remus what his fucking birthday present was, because it had arrived while they were home and they had asked. How he was ever going to hide a whole bloody proposal, he had no idea. Still, it was for Remus. Surely he could lie for Remus? 

Well, he had to. He didn’t have any other choice. 

With that in mind, he pulled his phone out and quickly tapped out a message for him. Start the plan early.

‘Going out for lunch with James on Saturday, thought we could go for dinner in the evening? Love you xXx’ 

Okay, he could lie over text. Perfect. He was also technically actually going for lunch with James, he was just stopping by a few jewellery shops in the process. And Hope’s house. Still, it wasn’t a lie, he just… didn’t disclose. it was fine. Absolutely fine. 

He was going to be fine keeping it from Remus. At least he could lie to himself? If he could do that, he could do it for Remus. 

His ability to do so was tested later that evening, which Sirius really didn't appreciate. 

James had messaged him with a list of jewellery shops they could go to, Sirius pulling out his phone and smiling as the two of them ate. Perfect. He was getting more excited by the second. Remus arched an eyebrow, curious. Sirius looked up at them, elaborating. 

“It’s James. He’s sending me… places we can go.” He hesitated briefly, stopping himself from saying fucking ring shops. He was already screwing it up, and he wasn’t about to let it happen. 

“Ah, right. Where are you thinking of going?” 

“Not sure yet.” Sirius answered quickly, flinching at the suddenness of the words. Remus picked up on everything, and he had probably picked up on that too. Still, he didn’t say anything about it, moving on with the conversation, something about planet alignments, as Sirius tried to force himself not to panic. It wasn’t really lying if he was doing something good. All he had to do was keep telling himself that. 

He was going to propose if it was the last thing he did. 

[thecampjuicebox]

Just in time for Halloween, a loose interpretation of a lovely request from @xxevilbunnyxxsblog! I hope I do this idea justice, as I've been having a lot of trouble with the original concept that was requested. It's been brewing in my mind for a few days now. Certainly taking some creative liberties here, but it should be good (hopefully). Here we go, this is a long one.

Aeterna Amantes

Pairing: Astarion x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

POV: 2nd person

Warnings: Angst, fluff, biting, very brief usage of a dagger, teasing, mutual pining, possessive dom Ascended Astarion x newly turned spawn sub Tav

The slender branches of baren trees rustle in the night air above your head, full moon casting a faint white light over the tired city. A shiver rumbles the vertebrae in your spine. Gods, it's frigid. Your brain fizzes in excitement as you slowly approach the castle nestled just outside the upper city, fingers wiggling in your black lace gloves. It's been 5 years since you've last seen him. 5 years of agonizing want. Worry. Astarion's ascension had driven a wedge between the two of you that seemingly nothing could remove. His arrogance, his lust for power, how easily he cast you out of the palace. The visions of that day still sting in your ears. You had challenged his decision to make you one of his spawn. Begged for there to be another way. You loved him, and he, you. But that wasn't enough for him. He longed for eternity. Something you were entirely too hesitant to give him. You had fallen ill in the castle, barely hanging on to the fragile thread of life. He prepositioned you that very night. Offered you an immediate cure. When you denied him, he became a different person. He spat, he ranted and raved. Oh, how he yelled at you. Pointed towards the door and bared his fangs to threaten you. Told you to leave or he'd kill you right in your shared bed chamber. Your heart aches in your chest at the memory and you blink hot tears away from the corners of your eyes.

Whispers of the extravagant event had circulated around the town, every high lord and lady enthralled with the preparations of it all. The wealthiest members on the Sword Coast planned to travel into the city. It was a shock when the invitation arrived to your home. The post master joked with you about the fancy gold seal on the letter and you rolled your eyes, fully expecting some pompous letter outlining how big of a mistake you had made by defying the vampire Lord back then. You opened it with trembling fingers, the words seeming to bounce right off of the parchment and read themselves in Astarion's voice. A voice you'd hoped you had forgotten by now.

"Dearest Tav,

It is with great pleasure that I ask you to accompany me to my Liar's Night Masquerade. You will come, won't you? Arrive adorned in your finest silks and lace for I would expect, nor accept, anything less from you. I do request you wear that gown I had made for you all those years ago. The one that hugs your delicious curves and accentuates your beauty the way no artist or canvas has ever been able to. You look truly captivating in it and I miss the sight of you twirling around the halls, your hair swirling around you like the dark embrace of the very shadows we dwell in. Do not forget your mask. It is all part of the fun, after all. Find me in the ballroom once you arrive, we have much to discuss. I shall see you on the 30th night of Marpenoth. I will be awaiting your correspondence, my love.

Signed,

Lord Astarion Ancunin."

Now, the night has arrived. You'd spent ages getting ready, making sure each curl in your hair was perfect. Taking care that each ruffle and seam on your expensive gown would be to the vampire's liking. Not once did you stop to consider.. Why did it matter so much? Truth be told, you still love the fanged tyrant. Still ache for his commanding words and sweet touch. The ruby amulet Astarion had gifted you the night after his Ascension rests on your collarbones, twinkling in the light of the large lanterns illuminating the walkway to the castle. A simple touch that, you hope, will sweeten the vampire's words even more tonight. Your hair falls in perfect ringlets that rest on your bare shoulders, each step on the cobblestone jostling the locks around. You approach the steps and carefully ascend them, grasping the thick layers of silk and lace of your dress in your trembling hands. An armed elven spawn stands stoic next to the door. Piercing red eyes stare down at you.

"Name?"

"You remember who I am, Feno."

You carefully lift the black lace mask covering your eyes and blink up at the tall spawn. An expression of realization twists on the elf's face and he curves his thick lips into a smile.

"Ah, Tav. Lovely to see you again. We've been expecting you."

He reaches for the iron handle of the door, carefully pulling it open to grant you access to the lavish castle. Pumpkins line the velvet black carpet that leads into the foyer. Lanterns and pillar candles are nestled between the colorful collection of gourds, very dimly lighting the way towards the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. The faint sound of an orchestra of bards rings through the halls and you follow the melodies, another well-dressed pair of spawn pulling open the grand doors for you. The scene is exquisite. Overwhelming. Every lord and lady on the Sword Coast dances and twirls happily, golden chalices resting in their hands, surely full of the finest wine that Baldur's Gate has to offer. Horith, one of Astarion's spawn that you became rather close with before you had disappeared, places a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jump, startled by his touch and he leans in to whisper quietly against your pointy ear.

"The master is waiting for you. Right this way."

A muscular forearm bends out for you, sparkling eyes piercing your own. You nod once and wrap your arm around his, fingers resting against the soft silk of his coat. Your free hand reaches down to gather your dress as to not step on it and you begin your walk to the expectant vampire lord. Eyes follow you from all directions. Horith gives your arm a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "They've all come for you." A look of confusion knits your eyebrows together. For you? Surely this is a misunderstanding. You'd been invited to this ball in the same fashion as everyone else, hadn't you? Lords and ladies bow and curtsy as you pass by and your breath hitches in your chest when your eyes settle on him. Astarion sits comfortably in a velvet chair well past the crowd, the platform he rests on raised enough for him to spot you and your escort over the heads of his other guests. A path clears in front of him as if by force.

"My love. You've come.."

Horith releases your arm and bows to the vampire lord, remaining bent at the waist as he descends the stairs to capture your hand in his. Gentle lips brush over your lace-covered knuckles and your cheeks burn crimson. Time seems to stop around you. The dancing. The merriment. All put on pause for this one moment. Your heart thumps audibly in your ribcage as Astarion turns your hand over and presses a kiss to the pulsing vein just at your wrist.

"You've really come.."

His red eyes flick to yours through the small leather mask that covers just the top half of his face and your knees nearly buckle beneath you. The softness of his voices makes your skin burn beneath his touch. He missed you. Maybe as much as you've missed him. Gentle hands reach out to grasp your hips and pull you to him, his slender arms wrapping around you tightly. The guests resume their dancing, music and the taps of feet overwhelming your senses. Nuzzling his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply, your familiar scent of lavender and orchids making him shudder.

"Follow me. We need to talk."

Hasty steps carry you down the hallway to the right of his lavish chair, the loud sounds of the party disappearing behind the two of you. Large golden-framed paintings of the vampire and his various spawn line the walls. He leads you up a winding staircase and down another hallway to the massive oak double doors of his boudoir. His grip on your hand tightens and you wiggle your fingers playfully, following him once he slips into the dark room. Un-lit and half melted candles drip down the sides of the black iron candelabras on the walls. With a snap, Astarion lights just enough to illuminate the area you're standing in, gentle firelight dancing off of your hair and the bright red ruby resting on your chest. His curls flow perfectly down the black leather and velvet of his Masquerade attire, the small black mask covering his eyes giving him an air of mystery. You'd know those eyes anywhere, though. You're caught off guard by the force of the vampire pressing you into the wall, soft lips crashing against yours in a long overdue kiss. Mouths move in unison. A small whimper escapes between your lips, driving Astarion to kiss you harder. Slower. To savor every moment he has with you now.

A smooth tongue flicks out against your bottom lip, begging for entry. You part your lips in acceptance. Tongues wrestle, teeth bump, hands wander. The smooth black lace of your dress hugs the supple curves of your body perfectly and Astarion's hands intend to explore every part with ease, exactly like they used to.

"Astarion.. You said we needed to talk."

You break the kiss, chest heaving. He slips his mask off, tossing it onto the neatly made up bed to your left. A trembling hand reaches up to stroke his hair back, the vampire beginning to pace back and forth before you.

"I had an entire monologue prepared. I wanted to yell at you. Chastise you for leaving me.."

You interject, heat rising in your throat at his words.

"You told me to leave, Astarion. Or have you forgotten?"

Footsteps pause, Astarion's eyebrows knitting together and he shoots you a glance that could petrify an ogre. He palms at his eyes for a moment before continuing on.

"No, I haven't forgotten. I had hoped you'd come tonight, is my point. I had a plan. A plan to make you submit to me. To convince you to stay. And then you.. You show up. Looking like-"

He waves his hand in your direction, motioning up and down your body.

"-That. And now I.. I can't think. I have hundreds of spawn. Slaves. Men and women that would slit their own throats for a chance to enjoy my company. Drive a stake through their own heart just to hear me utter their name. They wait, with baited breath, for my commands. And none of it means anything."

Shaking his head, he wipes a tear from beneath his eye with his thumb. The pathetic tone of his voice makes your heart sink into your stomach. You weigh your options. Staying here with him would mean eternity, the very eternity that made you uncomfortable in the first place. You could slip away into the night and leave, never to see him or this castle again. Leave Baldur's Gate forever. Your stomach churns, hot bile burning the back of your throat. Another night without your pale lover could be the end of you. Shaking your head, you continue towards him, a delicate hand cupping his cold cheek. His eyes meet yours. Tender. Ardent. A composed smile curves the vampire's lips upwards.

"None of it means anything without you here. All the nights I begged and pleaded to any god that would hear me.. For you to return to my side to become my consort. Ascension has meant nothing without my love."

You cradle his face in your hands now, gaze matching his. He sighs at your clement touch and leans into you. A light tingling sensation travels up your spine causing you to pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Your next words nearly catch in your throat and you clear the lump there, speaking softly up at the vampire.

"Astarion... M-Make me a spawn so I may remain by your side."

A heavy gasp forces its way into his lungs, eyes blown wide with surprise. He quirks an eyebrow at you and traces his fingers down your side, following the seam of your dress.

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Tender kisses speckle the side of your neck, over the front of your throat, and down to the other side, little nips at your flesh making your hips squirm. Stalwart fingers wrap themselves around your wrists and Astarion backs you towards the deep red wall behind you. Your back makes contact with a thud. He presses your wrists together to make it easier to hold them both in place with one hand, his now free hand reaching down to the sheath tucked snuggly next to his thigh. A silver dagger tip suddenly presses itself into your sternum. You freeze. Heat travels down to your core and you squirm beneath the blade. Cold lips and hot breath meet your pointed ear, the blade pressing ever so slightly harder into your skin.

"If you ever try to leave me again.. I will kill you myself."

Nodding meekly, your hips press forward into his, searching for any sort of friction the vampire will allow. His thin lips curve up into a smirk, tongue jutting out to trace a line up the side of your neck. Without warning he rears back and sinks his fangs into your flesh. Shards of ice soar through your veins and your eyes roll back into your head. The pain is much deeper than you remember. Stars and speckles float around your vision as Astarion consumes you, little dribbles of blood trickling down and staining your skin. Your arms go limp, your jaw slack, back bowing off of the wall for a moment before you slip away.

...

"Lady Ancunin, I do hate to disturb your sleep.. But I've set out some clothing for you. The master requests your presence in the throne room once you're dressed."

The sweet voice of a vampire spawn stirs you from the heavy shroud of sleep. You rub your eyes and stretch upwards, taking care to grasp the silk blankets surrounding you up and around your bare chest. The previous night is a complete blur. All you know is, you ache. Inside and out. A gentle hand reaches up to prod at the side of your neck and you wince at the still fresh puncture wounds. Scanning your surroundings, your eyes fall on the young woman. A thin, pale half-elf, eyes dark like garnet. You give her a gentle smile.

"I do appreciate it. I'm sorry, what did you call me?"

"I-I... The master has instructed that we all refer to you as Lady Ancunin, m-madam. I apologize."

Your lips curve into a frown at her frightened nature and you arise from the bed, naked body shivering from the cold air of the boudoir. You stand before the trembling elf and place a hand against her smooth cheek.

"it's quite alright, child. Please tell Astarion I'll be right down."

She nods and scurries away, leaving the silk garment Astarion requested you wear on the edge of the bed. Lifting the thin fabric into your hands, you examine it for a moment. A burgundy dress made of the finest silk that Faerun has to offer. Featherlight fingers slip the dress onto your frame and you move towards a mirror. You gasp quietly. You can't see yourself. You lean in towards the image of the boudoir behind you, eyebrows raising at your lack of reflection. The curls in your hair managed to hold from last night, your fingers finding the stray ringlets. The locks feel softer. Stronger. Your skin feels smoother. Your senses are heightened now, the sound of the spawn throughout the castle completing their daily tasks buzzing in your ears. And you're hungry. So painfully, devastatingly hungry.

Quick steps carry you to the throne room and you find Astarion handling business with one of the many magistrates of the upper city, quills and parchment passing back and forth between the two men. His eyes flick to yours when you enter the room and he beckons you to him. The magistrate quickly turns his attention to you, bowing without a second thought. "Lady Ancunin." You smile sweetly at the gentleman, making your way to the pedestal that Astarion's throne rests on, the velvet rug beneath your feet a comforting sensation. The vampire lord pulls you into his lap and strokes the back of your hair lovingly, pressing little kisses to your shoulder. The magistrate collects his scrolls, leaving the room quickly as you settle into your spot. Astarion's hands rest on your hips and toy subconsciously with the soft material of your dress, a quiet growl leaving him. His lips travel up the side of your neck to rest against your ear.

"You look beautiful.. And you'll stay beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me."

"So I'm your spawn.. What will happen to me?"

Astarion tuts, shaking his head quickly.

"Spawn is such an ugly word. I prefer.. Consort. Don't you worry. You have supped of my blood. It will be no trouble to extend a fraction of my protection to you."

"Am I going to be.. Different?"

Your lover tugs your back closer to him, his teeth leaving little marks along your exposed shoulder and he mumbles against your skin.

"You will be stronger, swifter, sharper. But you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve."

Your head leans back to rest against the vampire lord's shoulder. His embrace is comfortable. Safe. Your fingers meld with his his as his arms wrap carefully around your thin torso.

"So what now?"

A firm grasp on your thigh sends a shockwave through your core, your teeth clamping down onto your plush bottom lip. The vampire lord chuckles behind you and relaxes back into his seat, hands resting on the sides of your thighs now.

"As much as I wish to.. Sequester you in a deep chamber of my palace and keep you all to myself, there's much to be done. First we'll take Baldur's Gate. Then, we'll take the world. We'll dominate it until the sun itself melts. And then... We'll give ourselves to the night."

Fingernails dig into your skin, hiking up the deep red dress that just barely shields your otherwise naked body from the elements. Warm breath fans out over the back of your neck and you tremble at the new sensation, hips wiggling. Astarion grunts at the sudden friction against his lap and presses you firmly in that spot.

"Will you still drink my blood?"

Salacious fingers prod at your thighs and hips. You grind your rear against the lap beneath you and grin at the little sounds you earn, hands reaching back behind you to tangle in your lover's hair. His lips press firmly to your neck, tongue lapping at the healing wounds.

"Of course I will. And you'll drink mine. I can't wait to taste your lips after you've tasted me.. You must be hungry, my love. You shall feed. We must take care of your.. Cravings."

You groan at his words, hips finding a steady rhythm now. Astarion stands and lifts you with him bridal style, piercing red eyes telling you all you need to know about what comes next.

"Aeterna Amantes."

"Lovers forever. Until the world falls down."

[blainesebastian]

damage control (mas universe)

words: 2,284 ship: austin butler x reader summary: ( @stylespresleyhearted requested) “Reader’s iCloud gets hacked and she had some pictures in lingerie she had sent to Austin that get leaked”  notes: this is part of the ‘mutually assured satisfaction’ universe, my PR!relationship series. You could probably read this alone if you wanted. warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted, @rairaielv

In theory, you know there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a strong, successful woman in your industry and you’ve worked hard for that. There have been moments of sacrifice that you’ve never admitted or spoken outloud to anyone, but that’s what one does for their craft sometimes? Their passion. Not even to mention that you’re unconsciously comparing yourself to men in your shoes, how much more recognition they might get, how much more money. It’s not something you harp on because sometimes society just is what it is…you know how lucky you are and how far you’ve come, you’re not about to complain. But deep down you wonder, if this would have happened to a man somehow, what would the reactions be? There’s a societal stereotype that digs right under your skin.

And yet that doesn’t make it hurt any less when it happens.

In the back of your mind, there are a million thoughts swirling through in harsh circles, like a washing machine cycle that just won’t end. It’s one thing to take pictures of yourself for your boyfriend but why did you keep them? It would have been easy just to delete them afterwards, to make sure. And then another thought rebounds back with a why? What’s the big deal? So what if you’ve taken these pictures? You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you posed yourself in a bit of lingerie and sent them to your long-term boyfriend when he was away filming. You both missed one another, the phone sex and Facetime calls and long nights of shared intimacy of just hearing eachother’s voices was just barely enough to cover the ache. Why not add a few pictures to make things interesting? You loved taking them and Austin certainly loved receiving them. You haven’t done anything wrong, you haven’t hurt anyone.

There’s a rational part of your brain, however, that knew this was going to be a bad idea, or maybe hindsight is always that clear.

It’s just a ping-pong set of emotions, really, because when it happens you’re constantly floating between two families of thought. When someone hacks into your iCloud account and finds those pictures, they’re instantly circulated in a few ways. Sold to paps, posted online. Your agent and publicist do their best to cover damage control and while you’re numb at first to this even happening? your first thought ends up being, well at least I’m not completely naked.

And then that’s how it starts, the ping-pong table of feelings.

One the one side, there’s an aloof sense of justification in which you argue with yourself and anyone else that you’ve got no reason to feel shame about your body. It’s not your fault that the female form is automatically sexualized in society and that yeah, you’re wearing lingerie? But so what? It’s no more revealing than a bathing suit and you’re not about to feel guilty for sending them to your boyfriend. It’s not like you’re the only couple on earth to exchange pictures (yeah, Austin has sent his fair share back to you…luckily you had enough common sense not to keep those). On the other one side, you’re pissed off that this has happened and ashamed and embarrassed that a bunch of strangers are seeing you like this, judging you, seeing intimacies that were only made for Austin.

It comes in waves as you handle damage control and unfortunately today, you’re in the latter. The humiliation is just weighing heavily onto you today, like a weighted blanket, pulling your shoulders down. You feel like you might sink right through the floor of your loft…and that’s how Austin finds you when he comes home, crying in the kitchen and worse, trying to hide it from him.

You feel foolish attempting to pretend you’re fine anyways because at this point Austin knows you like the back of his hand, even if he wasn’t caught up on everything that’s been happening. You attempt to walk out of the room but he gently catches your elbow and at one simple touch you just crumble, tears rolling down your cheeks even though you try to wipe them away.

“Shh,” He whispers, drawing you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, tucking you underneath his chin as emotions slam into you like constant waves. Despite how terrible all of this is and your struggle to come to grips with a lot of it, the only good thing is definitely your boyfriend.

He reminds you how supportive and wonderful he is, not once allowing you to feed into the worst thoughts you’ve had about yourself saying that you somehow deserve the chaos that’s been happening. While friends and family have been encouraging and great, Austin speaks to a part of you that seemingly only he can reach. He’s the only reason you’re getting through this, rocky days or not.

You both eventually end up on the couch, Austin tugging you down until you’re lying on his chest, the lower half of your body between his legs. It’s one of the easiest comforts, closing your eyes as you rest your head on his shoulder, nose and lips pressed to soft skin of his neck. The faint scent of his cologne brings a sense of calm and you feel like you’re finally able to breathe, to settle down once you’re against him.

He brings one of his hands up and slides it along your back, pausing to rub circles into your spine. Neither of you need to say anything for a long while, just enjoying one another’s company and decompressing.

“I hate that every time I feel like I’m over this,” You sniffle, breaking the silence, “Another emotion pops up that’s capable of taking my legs out.”

Austin shakes his head gently, letting out a soft sigh that’s mostly through his nose, “You don’t have to justify any emotions that you’re feelin’ about this.”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” You let out a soft laugh, running your fingers underneath your one eye, removing a tear track that’s no longer there. “I have no idea how to feel.” There are so many ranges of reactions that it’s constantly knocking you back and forth—angry and guilty and humiliated and upset and so many synonyms for all of those, all a cycle, over and over again.

And then even worse, it’s not just you involved in this whole thing but other people are waiting for your reaction to this. Paps, social media, people you’ve worked with, fans…and not that you owe anyone an explanation, either, but you also feel like it’s not going to go away until you say something.

“You don’t owe anyone anythin’.” Austin reads your mind and you smile just a little because even though that might be obvious, it’s nice to hear it.

Shifting a little on his chest, you tilt your head up to look at him, pressing a kiss to his jawline. “I just don’t get what the big damn deal is, people do shit like this all the time. Don’t even get me started on how there’s underwear and bathing suit models? A ton of celebrities go down that track.” You get the sense that this is because it was something more intimate, more forbidden, the fact that these were for Austin’s eyes only. But still.

Austin brushes your hair aside. “That’s what you should do,” He comments, more offhanded than anything else, “Give them somethin’ to look at if they’re insisting.”

And you just kinda blink because…wait, “I…I could do that.”

A soft laugh rumbles in your boyfriend’s chest until he looks down at you and realizes you’re serious. He adjusts the pillow behind him, propping himself up a little more so he can see you properly. He raises his eyebrows, his mouth opening for a moment but he doesn’t speak quite yet. He waits, considering words before he says them.

Not because he’s not supportive but, reiterating, “You don’t have anythin’ to prove.”

“I know, it wouldn’t be for anyone other than me.” And you mean that—it’s not like some big idea to somehow prove that you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of or that you’re giving in to sharing more of yourself because you feel like you have to.

It’s not about that. It’s about owning up to these pictures and…not feeling guilty. You’re a beautiful, strong woman who’s in love with her boyfriend and who isn’t going to be mortified into feeling remorseful for sending or accidently saving half naked pictures.

“Yeah, those pics were only meant for you…but I’m not going to let anyone make me feel bad for sending them.” And this is decided. You’re…not quite sure what this is going to translate into, exactly, but the point is? You’re going to figure it out. Your agent, Christina, has been texting you nonstop since it’s happened anyways—trying to figure out a plan of attack.

Well, you’ve got one.

Austin smiles down at you, curling your hair around your ear. He leans down and presses a small kiss to bridge of your nose, can see how proud he is about you coming to this decision in the blues of his eyes.

And really, that’s all you need to keep moving forward.

--

As suspected, Christina doesn't second-guess any of your ideas—she just gets to work. She wants to be able to help in any way that she can, and honestly that means a lot to you. Especially with Austin's support, you feel like you can do this. There's that little voice in the back of your head, of course, feeding insecurities, lying about how this will only make it worse and more humiliating for you. But you eventually swallow that down, because confidence is key, it's the whole point and narrative that Christina tells the fashion photographer that has them agreeing to do the spread and small info session afterwards. It's a very small message of empowerment, of owning those frustrating feelings and using them for something good. It's selfish, for sure, but you're hoping other women get something out of this—there's nothing about the female body to be embarrassed about.

You watch your eyes in the mirror as a makeup artist puts just a bit of blush high on your cheekbones—there's an iridescence to it that matches the lingerie you're wearing. Kinda reminds you of a mermaid, really, the scales part. It's a lavender lace teddy, sheer in some places, just enough to hint over to imagination—much like the in the photos you sent Austin.

Your stomach is swirling in anticipation. The photos come second, just a few different shots, again very closely related to the poses you sent Austin (all of this is on purpose) but first a meet n’ greet with the photographer to answer some questions. They go fast and then flashes of bright light settling in the back of your eyes and…once it’s all over, you kinda feel enthralled and completely anxious all at the same time. Nervous energy bubbling along your nerve endings as you see Austin lingering in the background.

You’re not sure what time he’s arrived but he’s smiling at you, moving into frame once the camera stops going off. He lovingly cups both sides of your face, leaning down to gently press a kiss against your lips. There’s the sound of a camera shutter, you’re almost sure, but you don’t care as your hands rest on his waist.

He doesn’t say anything but you realize he doesn’t have to? He’s looking down at you with a mixture of emotions that tell you everything. How beautiful he thinks you are, how proud he is, and everything in-between.

--

There’s a full body shot from the photoshoot that blows up—and it just so happens to be the candid photo that the photographer took of you and Austin at the end. It’s endearing and soft and while all the other photos are knockouts, it’s definitely your favorite because it conveys the title that goes along with the thread: ‘no place for shame’. Not that this was one hundred percent your end goal either, but admittedly it does feel good that fans have been reposting and tagging you in positive posts.

Austin has been with you every step of the way, has supported you with the intimacies of your relationship accidently ending up out in the open since it happened. You couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend to go through this with.

You’re just glad that it finally feels like it’s on the upend of blowing over. So what better time than to feel good and celebrate?

You linger against the doorframe of the living room, watching as Austin reads over a script for tomorrow. A soft smile tugs the corners of your mouth, “Guess what?”

“Hmm?” He asks but doesn’t look up.

“I got to keep the lace teddy from the photoshoot.”

That gets Austin’s attention, he lifts his head in soft amusement, his eyes trailing over your form as you stand there wearing it. You smirk a little, playing with the thin lavender strings that tie together the bust. The soft mesh rests right along the tops of your thighs…and you’ve forgone underwear.

“You wouldn’t want to…take it off me, would you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

Austin slowly puts the script down, standing from the couch. He hums lightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he walks towards you. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to kiss you, playfully lifting you up into his arms to walk you towards the bedroom.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

[runawaymun]

if nobody's been here yet I'm gonna be very cringe and on brand and ask about the Partake Prequel

also Rivendell's Tiny Tearaway sounds DELIGHTFUL

Ahhhh thank you!

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

The Partake Prequel

(also if you wanted to know more about Rivendell's tiny tearaway just lmk I can make another post for that haha. But I am glad it sounds good!!!)

(cw: discussions of pretty abusive dynamics and questionable consent, also discussion of sex)

so this only exists in my head because a) I'm morbidly curious and have a fascination with the psychology of messed up relationships and b) I am a masochist.

I am just constantly thinking about how the fuck We Got Here when it comes to To Partake. Like how do things get to a point where it's this fucked up and messy and tangly and Bad?

and of course there are bits and snatches that are mixed in to Partake -- like little glimpses into the backstory of Elrond and Gil's situationship, but I want to know more specifically how we got to where we are now.

We know that Elrond started pining after Gil sometime in the late first age when he was roughly in between the age of fifty and seventy. Which...for a Peredhel is a perfectly acceptable age to be sexual (Elwing and Dior had kids and were married by 30). But from an Elvish perspective (i,e. Gil's) that's a baby.

Literally he does not think about anyone else. This is a somewhat unhealthy obsession already. There's a fealty-kink wrapped up in here somehow that's all messily combined with the fact that Gil is currently the only adult who is really present in Elrond's life (if we're going with ROP's timeline Galadriel seems to fuck off to hunt Sauron shortly after Morgoth's imprisonment in the void, and you know...Earendil is busy Earendiling)

So to start I don't think Gil even really saw anything with Elrond as being on the table until sometime in the very early second age, after he appoints Elrond as herald. It's unclear when this happened -- I couldn't find a date for it. But I presume it to be sometime after Lindon is founded and Mithlond constructed and certainly after Elros sailed for Numenor (Elrond would have been emotionally vulnerable and attached to Gil-Galad even more -- and in my head Elros would not have approved of anything going on between Elrond and Gil-Galad so that's very off limits until he's gone)

But--- with Elros gone indefinitely, yeah Elrond gets more attached to Gil.

They're still not sexual yet though.

Elrond is taking regular trips to Numenor etc.

So I generally imagine that things really Began between the two of them sometime shortly after SA 432, when Elrond is around 500 years old. He's "mature" at this point in Elvish terms, and Elros has just died -- so, unhinged and probably at one of his lowest points.

SEX CW: I have a VERY firm idea in my head which I was planning to make a oneshot of. But Elrond at this point does get Very Horny about Gil and starts masturbating about it sometime around here. Gil catches him and that's how....uhhhh things start.

Because OBVIOUSLY (Gil brain here) he is into Gil and THEREFORE this is a PERFECTLY NORMAL and FINE thing to do!

Plus he is OF. AGE.

Nevermind the fact that Elrond is incredibly unstable and vulnerable and depressed & still extremely young, completely inexperienced, and there's some really fucky power dynamics -- all of which affect his ability to consent properly to ANYTHING.

So that's how it starts. They just start having sex. I think nobody really knows about it at this point.

(we start with mostly just Gil on the receiving end of some oral sex that Elrond is getting rapidly better at)

Gil's the one to broach anything more than that and Elrond is down for anything as long as Gil is happy.

rumors do start circulating at this point but absolutely nobody is keen to confront them about it.

I feel like there's potential here for Galadriel to catch wind of things, directly ask, and for Elrond to deny absolutely everything.

If she asked Gil there's no way that he'd admit that anything is going on either because she makes him fear for his life haha.

Elrond has been actively suppressing links to Melian at this point because it freaks out most Elves -- and because Gil doesn't like it.

At some point Gil broaches-- and by broaches what I really mean here is tries (he doesn't ASK!!) an osanwe link. Likely either during or just after sex.

Elrond does not know any better and his brain is full of dopamine and he thinks this is AWESOME. The king wants to be EVEN MORE INTIMATE

boom osanwe link. Far more of an osanwe link than they ever should have had.

boom immediate dissonance which is painful for Gil and so he assumes it is painful for Elrond

Elrond has not had enough osanwe experience to know this is pretty insular to the specific way his and Gil's Themes don't mesh.

"Let me fix it ok?" "Oh god please fix it"

Also there's the undertone here of Gil doesn't like it and Elrond feeling the need to manage his emotions and divest himself of anything displeasing even if that's his fucking Theme.

Hence the theme fuckery begins.

And things really really really start to devolve with their relationship.

Like I imagine in the beginning Gil was pretty cautious and careful -- not in a lovey dovey way but he's not wholly inconsiderate and it's within his Partake characterization that he doesn't like to hurt his partner unless it's in a fun kinky way. He also does not get off on someone being scared. That's an ick for him. So initially he would be careful.

But Elrond starts getting really good at masking things and figuring out that Gil likes to be rough.

And of course, anything for Gil.

Do you see where we're going.

Well and it's compounded by the fact that Elrond does actually like it, too. It just scares him. So he as a lot of really confusing feelings going on that he doesn't know how to handle and there's also a lot of shame wrapped up in it too

And obviously Gil is not um. Guiding him through this in the way that a more experienced partner who is sometimes building scenes and domming should.

And again -- there's that messy thing of "I need to please you in absolutely every way possible and also clearly my differences are Bad, and therefore I must mask all of them as best I can and keep up with my work demands because being useful is better than being loved."

(Which is a lesson he learned from literally everyone, even Elros in the end. It is not a lesson that Elros meant to teach him. But Elros loved him. And then he left.)

Anyway that's as far as I've gotten. The beginning is much more specific and it gets more nebulous as we get closer to the Partake timeline, but it's very easy for me to see the trajectory of their relationship, and that's really what I want to explore.

OHHHH also the undertone of codependency because Elrond and Gil are both fundamentally isolated and find solace in each other. And Gil isolates Elrond further to ensure that He Will Not Be Left. Because Gil is afraid of being inadequate and has literally no one else except like, Cirdan, who cares for him so deeply. (I mean, he would. If he wasn't an asshole. But you get where I am going with this.)

Yeah. Sorry.

There is no happy ending to this fic it is just a dissection of how we get from point A to point B. The happy ending would be Partake alkdhg.

[seeds-of-life-daily]

Day 19

SEELE!Rei AU notes I wrote on the bus

If you've seen this account's post, you're probably aware of the SEELE!Rei AU that's been circulating in my brain. To those who are curious and like the concept, here are some tidbits and notes I've made about it under the read more !!! BRIEF EXPLANATION: This is an AU idea of what if Rei was raised by SEELE alongside Kaworu instead of by Gendo/NERV?

Having Rei and Kaworu as siblings would be pretty good for the both of them. Rei would have someone to relate to and be comfortable around. Kaworu would experience similar stuff too, and wouldn't be exclusively Shinji-centric, making them have a possibly healthier dynamic/relationship. Rei could also be a tad more self-expressive, since being raised by SEELE would rid her of all the conditioning* and restrictions* (by Gendo, at least) she went through in nge canon. That doesn't rid them of all their problems, though. As we know SEELE has a dummy system as well, meaning Rei would still view herself as expendable and question her identity and self (possibly even more, with now having much more information to go off of to analyze.) Poor Rei'll have to deal with another organization's instrumentality planning deal again :( Kaworu would still have to choose between Lilin and the Angels. He is still a (unnatural) progeny of Adam, after all. I don't think he would suffer any less dread and anxiety from that in this AU. Having Rei around would probably lean him more towards his decision of saving the Lilin, though. What fun to constantly have to battle your nature of returning to your angelmom/soul's body, amiright? Yeah. Having Rei in the custody of SEELE makes me think that it would be best that she wasn't a Yui clone. No more weird ulterior Yui motives!! That would pose the question of how did they come to exist then? Since the Katsuragi crew were the ones to be near Adam in Antarctica, what if another division was with Lilith a year or so later? This time they made another contact experiment with a vessel they manufactured specifically for this one. Just so happens that the one to be in charge of the design and name was our old pal Gendo... Bro can't let go of his dead wife obsession even in this AU :/ Yui's still totally dead btw. Right after Rei's "birth" too! She was still batshit insane and put her soul in Eva unit-01, but at least now Rei wasn't anywhere near NERV/GEHIRN. Rei gets unrestricted internet access. They share a room with their "twin" and have a cheap, creaky, bunk bed until they're 8, when both of them decide to split the room in half and bicker when Kaworu finds Rei's trash on his side of the room. This doesn't last too long, though, since when they turn 12, Rei gets sent for training at NERV, while Kaworu's goes two years later. ^^^^ I think about this moment a lot in the AU. Gendo basically just takes Rei to go pilot the Eva just because they look similar to Yui and had to leave her twin brother alone to deal with SEELE bullshit without anyone else to really talk to about it for 2 years.

Rei's design differs when not in school, having a light blue long skirt and a simple dress shirt with her school uniform's red ribbon. They also sport some bandaids, even before piloting! Mainly from clumsiness and accidents back when she was a small kid.

Kaworu's design is virtually the same, save for his orange belt, his black shoes with orange bottoms, and bandages on his arms. Having already been with SEELE in nge canon, I didn't want his design to differ too much.

So far that's all I've written down for now, but if I ever get close to done with this AU and have made it even slightly comprehensive then I'll probably post a huge lore-post about it. Thank you for reading !! :D

[taurussuitjake]

safety net

hi guys, this is my first fic! i haven’t written fic in soooooo long so please bear with me here lol, here’s a cute little friends-to-lovers with Danny that will have a part 2 with a little more steam to follow! ENJOY 🌝 2.6k words (i think)

warnings: depression, lack of self care, platonic intimacy, fluffy as FUCK, best friend! Danny.

it’s been 6 days since you left your bedroom.

october brings about an emptiness that swallows you whole. you can’t seem to put your finger on why, exactly… but nonetheless, that’s about the time your seasonal depression sets in.

while your brain will tell you that everyone around you is burdened by the rain cloud that hangs over you these days, they definitely put up a hell of a fight. Jake and Josh have both texted you every morning and every night to see how you’re feeling and ask if you need help with anything. Sam calls you at least once a day just to try and make you laugh (and it usually works, even if it’s just a little bit.)

but Danny is texting you consistently throughout the days that pass, calling you around the same time everyday, bringing you food, staying over on the weekends just so you don’t have too much alone time. Danny is your very best friend, and he literally will not let you forget it, now more than ever.

your house is still. it’s quiet. you can only imagine that if the void had a sound… it sounds like this. it’s 6PM in the middle of october, so not only is it still, but it’s cold and dark. your ear picks up the sound of a key in your deadbolt, the turning of the lock and the click of your front door. there’s only two people who have a key to your house… and your mom always calls before she comes over.

Danny. thank God, it’s Danny.

while you were still in your silence and comfortable in your solitude, you’d be lying if you said that Danny’s presence didn’t make you feel better. even though the sun has set, it’s like you have all the sunshine you need in your doorway at this very moment.

he doesn’t call for you, he just slips off his shoes and pads his way to your bedroom door, which is left slightly ajar to keep air flow circulating throughout the house. the slit of dim light from the hallway gets wider as he lightly pushes your door open.

“how is Y/N today?” he asks, walking around to your side of the bed and taking a seat beside you. you turn to face him with tears brimming your eyelids, threatening to loosen the floodgates, but he notices immediately.

“hey-hey, sit up. c’mere.” he demanded ever so gently. you oblige, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt.

“what’s got you upset?” he whispers as he pushes the stray hair out of your face with his calloused hands, “what can i do?” he asks.

you hesitate to speak for a moment, embarrassed of what you’re about to admit.

“Danny, i haven’t showered in 6 days. i feel so gross but i don’t wanna leave my bed. i feel so exhausted.” you choke out, tears streaming at this point. “i almost don’t want you this close to me because it’s probably very obvious.” you admit.

“Y/N,” he pauses, a merciful smile splayed across his face. it brings you a small sense of comfort. “it doesn’t matter whether it’s obvious or not, it’s hard to take care of yourself when you don’t have the energy to do so. i understand how it feels. don’t be embarrassed or anything.” he reassures you.

it lifts a small weight off your shoulders, visibly. his eyes gleam a little at the sight of you sitting up a little straighter. it makes you crack a smile for the first time since Sam called you this morning.

you both sit there, letting the silence fill the room. the only audible thing you have to hold onto is the sound of Danny’s steady breathing. by this time, he’s grabbed both of your hands into his and starts rubbing the back of your hands with the pad of his thumb. it’s like he just knows. he knows how to make it all better. the silence brings about an idea- a strange one- but an idea nonetheless.

“this is a strange request, but it’s something you could do.” you speak lowly into the space around the both of you.

“whatever you need, Y/N.” he assures you.

you pause, looking up and your ceiling, debating on whether or not you should speak the thought into existence. “would you mind sitting in the bathroom with me while i shower?” you say, finally.

it takes him a moment to grasp what exactly you’re asking of him, so you feel the need to damage control and elaborate on what exactly you want him to do.

“i don’t mean anything risqué, i just think it might help me if you sit on the counter or something while i shower. kind of like body doubling.” you pause for a moment. “it holds me accountable to complete the task.”

he analyzes your face for a moment, he can tell that you’re starting to get a little nervous, as he hasn’t actually answered your question.

“yeah- yeah, i think i can do that.” he nods his head subtly, a small smile breaks across his face. you’re not sure if it’s because he’s happy that you’re wanting to get out of bed and do something for the first time in almost a week, or if he’s happy that you asked him a favor of that nature.

he gets up from the bed and warns you as he reaches up to pull the ceiling fan chain to turn the light on. you grab your respective necessities: a fresh pair of underwear, set of pj’s, a towel and an old t-shirt to dry your body and hair with. meanwhile, Danny waltzes to your bathroom to start running your shower, making sure it’s comfortably warm for you when you eventually get into it.

you make your way into the bathroom, and he steps out for a moment, grabbing the door handle before closing it, “just to give you some privacy. just call for me when you want me to come back in, okay?” he requests. you nod as he closes the door quietly.

you remove your clothes and throw them in your hamper, almost relieved at the feeling of the fabric no longer touching your skin. you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, in fear that it’ll talk you out of doing anything in favor of showing yourself some love. you push back the shower curtain just enough to shimmy behind it and finally let the warm water rush over you. you take a deep breath in to fill your lungs with the hot steam. you exhale. so far, so good.

“you can come in now.” you call for Danny. you hear the handle turn and the door click open and close. he shuffles across the bathroom floor and sits atop the closed toilet seat.

“how ya feelin’?” he asks as soon as he sits down.

you snicker tiredly, “first impressions? i’m just glad i can feel something other than my clothes.”

he chuckles, it almost resembles a sigh of relief. you’re trying. and he’s so happy to see you trying.

you make small conversation as you conduct your normal shower routine. he tells you about his week this far and it almost makes you wanna join the real world again. you took a temporary leave of absence from work for two weeks to try and get yourself together after about three days of being on autopilot while slowly sinking into whatever hole you’ve been in for the past week.

“Danny?” you say meekly.

“yeah?” he answered you almost immediately. it made your heart jump a little.

“thank you for being here.” you reply.

he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then you hear his lowly tone say “i just want you to be okay, i’ll be here however and whenever you need me.” as the words passed through his lips, the love that dripped from his voice evaporated into the shower steam you slowly breathed in. for the first time in a while, you felt something other than nothing.

“i think i’m ready to get out now, will you hand me my towel, please?” you changed the subject before you started overthinking the moment. you see the towel peel through the slit of the shower curtain and take it from Danny’s hand. you wrap yourself up in your towel, tucking one of the corners back into the towel to hold it in place at your chest. you began to feel exhaustion creep up on you again, and your hair was still sopping wet.

“do you need me to step out for a minute?”

for a reason you’re going to assume was simply feeling too drained, you begin to cry again. you sniffled and he must’ve heard you and known what was happening behind the shower curtain.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? what happened?” he sounded a little panicked, you felt guilty for making him worry.

“i feel like i sound so stupid for this.” you say, nearly sobbing.

“for what?” he asks, concerned. like he was on the edge of his seat.

“i need to dry my hair but i still feel too drained to do the work. i feel so fucking useless! i’m so tired of feeling so useless!” what started as a gentle cry, ended as a temper tantrum.

“Y/N, you’re not useless.” he assured you calmly. “are you covered?” he asked.

“yeah, why?” you asked, not prepared for him to draw back the shower curtain slowly.

“c’mere. let me dry your hair.” he already had the t-shirt in his hands and a soft smile on his face. he grabs both of your hands, “watch your step.” he offers as he looks down to make sure you had the right footing to step out of the tub and onto the bath mat. you both look back up at each other simultaneously, and his hands reach up to your face to push all of the stray strands stuck to your face from the water. he offers a warm smile.

“there you are.” he says, relief woven in his phrase.

in that moment, you could diagnose a present emotion. you could diagnose happiness for the first time in (what felt like) forever. you held back tears, for it was no longer time to cry.

he gently places his hands atop your shoulders and motions you to turn around.

“i’m gonna dry your hair a little, okay?” he says. you nod your head and tip it back just a little so that he can get the under layer of your hair.

his hands tousle through your now damp strands, working diligently to get as much moisture out of your hair as possible. you feel his body heat vanish for a moment and you slump your shoulders at the loss of him being close to you. he returns not half a second later and he begins brushing the ends of your hair gently.

“you don’t have t-“ he cut you off.

“respectfully, if i don’t do it… i’m not sure you will.” he chuckled a little. he was right, you couldn’t even deny it. you chuckled along with him for a brief moment, as the bristles crept up closer and closer to your scalp. when he was done brushing through the tangled, he even parted your hair for you, just as you part it all the time and tamed both sides afterwards.

you turn to face him, unsure of what to do or say. a ‘thank you’ would suffice, but your body moved faster than your brain did, and you pulled him into a hug. he wrapped around you so graciously. he physically made you feel whole. like he glued all of your pieces back together. he planted a gentle kiss on the top of your head and squeezed you just a little tighter before he let go and pulled away just enough to take in your features. he scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, and to his delight, there was none.

“i’m gonna let you change into your clothes and then i’ll come back in if you need me to.” he nodded while slowly peeling himself away from you. he didn’t want to let go, but he didn’t want you to lose your winning streak. you nodded back in agreement and turned toward the counter and quickly dressed yourself after you heard the door close. after your clothes were on, you took the opportunity to brush your teeth. you were pretty good about doing that at least once a day since you fell into your bout, but maybe this would set you back on your normal nightly routine.

after you were done, you opened the door to see Danny stopping mid-pace in front of the door and offering a wide smile. “how do you feel?”

you smile at the sight of him. also, in the name of hopefulness.

“i feel better. very much so.” you exhale slowly, still gleaming a little.

“i’m so glad, you look so… yourself.” he said.

you take in your surroundings for a moment, trying so hard to chain yourself to this present moment. you can feel the way he’s watching you attentively. you got confirmation of that as soon as your eyes landed back on him, because he was already looking at you.

“i love you.” you said, just above a whisper. and not the ‘i love you’ that you give him when you guys part ways or hang up the phone. this felt different as it left your lips.

and he knew exactly what you meant. it’s almost like he was waiting for you to admit it. out of all the close friends you could’ve asked… you asked him. he’s the first person you run to with anything; exciting news, a bad mood, sadness… Danny was your safety net. your truest love. your very best friend. and he knew. and he waited for as long as he had to. for this moment.

he smiles gently, stepping closer to you with caution; he’s reading your expressions like a book. he sees no sign of discomfort, as he inches closer to you to close the gap in between you two, almost completely. he lifts his hand to push the hair in your face back behind your ear once more, traces his fingertips along your jawbone and rests his index finger and thumb on the tip of your chin. he flicks his eyes up and down, from your eyes and back down to your lips. you allow fate to take hold of this moment and stand motionless, your breathing hitching slightly as he inches closer to your face. his eyes flutter closed, yours following close behind. you feel the peaks of his pillow-soft lips ghost over yours. within seconds, his lips are fully attached to yours. if this was the kiss of life, you were revived with great success. you felt the heat in your cheeks radiate and your heart thrum in your chest. it was beautiful; it was missed so dearly.

he pulled away slowly. his eyes fluttered open, bliss warping his vision only for a moment. the caution that lingered previously had returned; he read you for any signs of discomfort before he spoke.

“i love you too. so much. you’ll never understand how much.” he gushed, smiling blissfully.

“i’m so glad you’re here.” you returned the smile.

“right back at you.” he said, pulling you into his chest. you were lost in his heartbeat and the rise and fall motions of his chest.

[ltleflrt]

Ltleflrt's Writing Year In Review

Not a lot of writing got done this year, but considering the level of burnout I've been experiencing in the last 3-5 years, I'm very happy with what I've gotten done :)

Total 2023 Wordcount: 67,799

Total 2023 Kudos: 247

Total 2023 Hits: 2,734

My 2023 Fics:

Peace: 18,643 (WIP)

Fenris didn't have much reason to smile and laugh in his life, until he came to Kirkwall and Hawke gives him a reason to. Fenris doesn't want to disrupt the fragile sense of peace he's found by putting his heart in the hands of another mage, but Hawke's flirting and kindness are difficult to resist.

This is a rewrite of my very first fic Peace Begins With A Smile, and technically most of the wordcount is from there. But I've got many more chapters written than posted, and I know for a fact that I added AT LEAST 10k words to the original story, so I'm keeping that posted wordcount for this year's stats :D

Peace began as a writing exercise, just to keep my creative muscles from atrophying. I had replayed DA2 early in the year, and fell down the Fenhawke rabbit hole again, and it made me want to re-read my own story. I hadn't read it in like 10 years, so it was very eye opening to see just how much I've improved and how much my writing style has developed in that time. I wanted to rewrite it with my new skills, and wow it's a BIG difference.

Reaching Out: 22,825 (WIP)

Everyone knew Malcolm Hawke was a good man. A hero in the eyes of his wife and children, and a respected pillar of the community. At least until rumors of magic started to circulate, and he had to move his family in order to protect them. He'd do anything to keep his family safe, a responsibility he passes on to his eldest son when illness takes him away. Mal Hawke not only bears his father's name, but also the weight of his father's legacy. Everyone, including himself, expects him to step into his father's role, to pick up those responsibilities and carry them with the same steadfast strength. An expectation that is tested when the Blight hits Lothering, and is strained to a breaking point by the lawless and chaotic City of Kirkwall.

This is my biggest 2023 project, all original words. Once again, DA2 infested my brain, and I got an idea for a new version of Hawke that has me really excited. Plus, I have always wanted to write a Fenhanders fic, so this is going to be it! I got stuck, and have been distracted by BG3, but I still have big plans for this fic. (SO big, omg this story is going to be so long lol)

Something to Hold: 14,733

He did not hear the telltale clank of Templar armor behind him. It was probably a local. All Anders needed to do was act as if he were a simple traveler passing through. Nothing remarkable. Nothing worth mentioning to any searching Templars who might follow. Don’t run, act natural, don’t run, act natural, he thought firmly as he forced himself to keep an even pace. The only sign he gave that he recognized he was no longer alone on the road was to move to the edge to give the approaching stranger space to pass him. His heart beat like bird wings against the cage of his ribs as the sound of horse hooves and cart wheels grew closer. His fingers began to tingle with magic, and he curled them inward to hide any wayward sparks. Anders tried to keep his shoulders loose instead of tucked up tense around his ears. When the wagon drew up alongside him, Anders kept his eyes forward and prayed to the Maker that the stranger would ignore him. As was the case with most of his prayers, the Maker didn’t listen. On one of his many escape attempts Anders meets the Hawke family. And forms a special connection with the eldest son.

This was an excuse to write porn lol

I love "what if they met before canon" fics, and I decided to write one of my own. It turned out longer than I thought it would (shock!), and planted the seed for Reaching Out. It can stand alone, but I'm treating it as a prequel :D

Bathed in Starlight: 3,336

“You should have brought a torch,” Gethin scolds lightly as he comes to a stop next to Astarion’s discarded armor and clothing. It’s folded neatly, the armor stacked methodically. Astarion affects an air of carelessness, but he keeps his few belongings tidy and organized. Gethin suspects it’s his way of exerting a modicum of control over his life. “Or stayed closer to camp.” Astarion flashes a fanged smile at Gethin over his shoulder, seemingly unsurprised at his presence. “You know how much I enjoy a nip of danger, darling.” When Gethin’s lips tighten with disapproval, Astarion’s smile droops into a pout and he sighs dramatically. “There was nothing to worry about, was there? Here you are, with enough light for both of us.”

OMG a new fandom! *excited bounce*

I picked up Baldur's Gate 3 on launch day because the bear sex scene in the trailer hooked my interest (yes, I'm a closet furry), and the game has taken over my life. I did not expect to fall in love so hard, with the characters, the story, the gameplay, with my OCs, and one particular elf. But here we are, and I'm gonna fic about it.

This is just a canon conversation that I needed to write from the POV of my Dark Urge OC. Nothing special about it. And of course it had to include bathing. If I never wrote anything else for BG3, I needed to make sure I added my signature to the fandom :D

The Sun, The Moon, and The Night: 8,262 (WIP)

Caelnir and Kestrel are half brothers who were swept up by the mindflayer nautiloid at the same time. When they crash back to Faerun, they meet a pale elf who manages to snare both of them with his charms.

This is the bastard that has distracted me from my other WIPs. Yeah, yeah, I'm mad about it too, but I'm also gonna keep writing it lol

I don't normally create OCs. Like, there's Gabe Hawke and JM Shepard, but they've got more of a canon framework than most RPG playable characters. I have no emotional connections to any of my Dragon Age wardens, and the one inquisitor I care about has just the baaaarest hint of backstory. I can't even think of OCs I've created for other RPGs, because I don't care.

But oh boy, I care about Kestrel and Caelnir. A lot. Mostly because I created them with the same face shape, and I thought it would be funny if I somehow made them brothers even though one is a high elf, and the other is a drow. But they're half elves. What if their mom was just a slutty slutty human who traveled a lot? BOOM. The boys came to life, and now I'm writing fic. And since they both romanced the same character in the game, it's a poly fic. I love the challenge of poly fics, and I also hate the challenge, WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF??

Oh yeah, because Astarion is my blorbo, my boys are precious and special, and I'm the self insert slutty slutty human mom ;D

My writing in 2023 has been nothing like previous years. The fics I've written have gotten very little attention compared to what I'm used to, even going back to my very early days of posting, but I'm having fun and I've got a few friends who are intensely interested in the stuff I'm creating. I'm just happy to be writing!

My plans for 2024 are to keep plunking away at the WIPs in this post. I don't see myself going back to any of my Destiel WIPs, posted or otherwise, any time soon. I think my brain needs a break from the Winchesters for now.

(Of course, there's a shitload of Winchester Inspiration in some of my new OCs, but like...they don't have American accents, so they're TOTALLY DIFFERENT PEOPLE LOL)

Anyway, Happy New Year! Here's to many more fics, both written and read, in our future! 🍾🎆🥂

Previous Years

[dearheart42regenerated]

What is "Vega"?

"I told him there's no way you'd be foolish enough to believe in a myth like Vega...looks like I was wrong."

so I was rewatching a few scenes and that line from Kane in the 2-part finale suddenly got my brain going brrrr about WORLDBUILDING!!! because if "Vega" was a thing completely made up by Kane, why would he talk as if the idea was an already-existing myth?? the implications are delicious to me, sooo. here's my own personal overly-elaborate theory/headcanon... *insert drumroll here*

Vega = "Anonymous"

by that I mean Vega is basically this universe's version of the hacker group...albeit much more focused and serious than ours. they're trying to save the world, after all.

there are many rumors, myths and conspiracy theories about what and where Vega is - "a spy organization in Cleveland" is just one of the bigger ones (for whatever reason lmao.) most of these stories have been planted by the members of Vega themselves, to make it all the more impossible to find them or prove their existence. they do their work quietly and thoroughly, without any announcement or warning, and any traces left of who they might be are either scrubbed or quickly swallowed up by all the tinfoil-hat "evidence" circulating around.

Vega is anywhere and anyone. they exist as a sprawling collective of spies, hacktivists, pirates, coders, digital archivists AND, perhaps most crucially...guerilla data cablers. any person with these skills is welcome to be part of the group, so long as they commit to The Priority.

"The Priority" is Vega's single unifying mission: to restore open, unrestricted internet to all corners of the post-apocalyptic world, and reconnect every pocket of civilization scattered around Earth. they believe achieving "complete connection" again is the key to saving humanity from total extinction.

are they gonna save the world with wifi? yes. yes they are.

there is no chain of command, no counsel, no head "in charge" of Vega handing out missions or telling everyone what to do...which means internal dissent happens a lot. but generally as long as the members all agree to dedicate their efforts to The Priority and work in good faith with each other, almost anything goes idea-wise...and yes, sometimes that does include taking direct action against fascist dictators. ;)

there are also four basic rules every member must follow while working in the group:

1 - "VEGA IS A MYTH." Vega will continue to "not exist" in the public eye until a two-thirds majority of the members agree that officially revealing themselves to the world is both necessary and unavoidable. they do this to make it harder for bad actors to weaponize their work or use their name for self-serving political gain.

2 - "SECRECY IS MANDATORY." YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB talking about Vega to outsiders is forbidden, unless inviting someone to join the cause. members revealing their identities to each other is also forbidden. anyone who publicly claims credit for something in Vega's name has either eventually been exposed as a fake, or thoroughly framed as a fake by the other members if one goes rogue.

3 - "CENSORSHIP IS THE ENEMY." having open access to the world's knowledge is absolutely sacred to Vega - it is THE "why" behind the "what" of their mission! so while members are free to act on their own, attacking libraries, journalists or the media is both forbidden and unforgivable. the only exception is when they find a media network/organization with censors or restrictions placed on it - in which case, they will only act to lift those restrictions, so people have the ability to find all the information for themselves.

4 - "CONNECTION IS THE PRIORITY." whatever the members do, their plans must be in service of Vega's mission in some way...whether it's restoring or preserving an ancient website, breaking into a new location to install or repair data cables, or hacking a corrupt politician's computer system.

there's a delicious irony in Kane using the "myth" of Vega to capture Mike. at some point in the future, the true Vega will play a key role in helping the Burners free the people of Deluxe from Kane's clutches once and for all...and finally, reconnecting all of Detroit with the outside world.

(also VEGA INVITES CHUCK AND JULIE TO JOIN THEM AND THEY GET TO DO COOL HEROIC SUPER-SECRET HACKER/SPY STUFF TO SAVE THE DAY AND IT'S FUCKIGN AWESOME)

[butler-trouble]

Room 23 (Pt. 3) // Austin!Elvis x Reader

part one  ♡   part two

Comment here to be added to the tag list

A/N: Since it has been so long since I’ve updated this story, I decided to make it extra long and spicy for you guys. I apologize for the late update, school and l life has kept me super busy I have a lot of ideas going for the future. As always, requests are open and welcome to suggestions!

Rating: 18+ only, minors dni

Warning(s): A bit lengthy, oral (f receiving), reader's first experience, a bit of swearing, slight word change from the original hayride scene 

Prompt: You're seeing your boyfriend Elvis' performance for the first time and you’re having a great time, until you see him practically touching noses with a girl in the audience. After the show, you confront Elvis about the interaction to which he reassures you, in more ways than one, that he’s all yours.

Word count: 3,446 words

Tag list: @otherbluefae @shynovelist @kaitaesupremacy

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•

You had been pumped all day in excitement to finally be able to see your boyfriend, and best friend, perform. Elvis had confided in you throughout your  years of friendship about his passions for music, making it more special that you finally get to see his dreams coming true. 

“You ready, darlin’?” Elvis called behind you, causing you to turn around to the dark-haired man in front of you. He was dressed in a loose pink suit with black accents and a black button up shirt tucked into the pants. Smudged eyeliner and mascara lined his eyes to add a perfectly rugged look, complimenting his slicked back hair. 

The sight of him alone caused your heart to begin rapidly beating, along with another heartbeat somewhere else. “U-Um, yeah, I’m ready,” You spoke once words circulated your brain once again, the stuttering caused a small smile to pull at his lips.

"You look..," You started, taking in his appearance, "hot." The word slipped out of your mouth before you could think, causing a small chuckle to bubble from his chest. "Not as hot as you, lil mama," He stepped closer, setting your petite hands into his before stealing a small kiss. He twirled you in a circle, your baby pink dress fanning out and causing you to erupt into giggles while stopping in front of his grinning face.

"Are you ready, my future superstar?" You asked in a half-joking manner, turning the attention back to him. You knew Elvis had so much talent that needed to be shared with the world, but also knew that he greatly doubted himself. Elvis was completely unaware of how talented he truly was.

"A man can only dream, baby," Elvis responded solely to the nickname, seemingly avoiding the question. His blue eyes staring himself down in a small mirror, face slowly dropping his cocky smile.

"You will do great things, Elvis. I believe that with my entire heart," You stepped closer towards him, slowly planting a hand onto his cheek. The touch caused his eyes to shift focus to you, uncertainty in his eyes. "You have an incredible voice and everyone needs to hear it. Don't get so in your head like I know you always do," You encouraged, his own hand cupping over your own as his eyes never left yours.

"Just be yourself, Elvis, and everything else will come naturally. You've got this baby. Now show all of them who Elvis Presley is," You finished before leaning up on your toes to kiss his cheek, taking his hand in your own before guiding him to the car.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Your seat was within the front row of chairs, side by side with the other men and women of the audience. Jimmie Rodgers Snow took the stage before Elvis, his country sound filling the room and inviting the audience to clap along. Before long, Jimmie's set had finished, leaving an empty stage and anticipation for the next act.

"He's a young singer from Memphis, Tennessee, with a record out at Sun label. It's alllll over the radio. Give him a warm Hayride welcome to Mr. Elvis Presley," 

This is it.

Elvis appeared from behind the curtain, taking his place on center stage as a man adjusted his microphone. As he put the guitar strap across his shoulder, your heart began to beat rapidly in anticipation for what was about to happen. 

The spotlight now shined on Elvis, focusing everyone’s attention onto him. After exchanging words with the host, Elvis took a wavering breath as his blue eyes scanned the audience. With the spotlight directly into his eyes it was difficult to make out faces, just the outline of many people sitting within the audience.

“It goes somethin’ like this,” He spoke into the mic, a bit of feedback screeched in response. Silence. 

Elvis began to sing the intro to Baby, Let’s Play House, taking a moment to observe the audience. “Get a haircut freak,” A man yells from the audience, earning a few laughs throughout the audience. You scoff and roll your eyes at the immaturity, looking around to see where the comment came from. 

As your eyes landed back onto Elvis, it was like a transformation within him. One second he is a shy, nervous boy and the second he begins to sing with the band, he becomes a confident man. As the song takes over him, Elvis’ legs began to wiggle to the beat. 

You’ve never seen anyone move like that before but seeing Elvis doing it brings a warm feeling throughout your body. Your eyes widened slightly, the sight of him wiggling his pelvis on stage had awakened feelings you ‘ve never felt and you’re not alone.

Just as the audience began to warm to Elvis’ performance, a small scream escaped a girl’s lips only a few seats from you. She covered her mouth as if the scream was beyond her control, awakening the same feelings that you were having. A small part of you was jealous that another girl felt that way about your boyfriend, but the other part of you understood. 

Almost like a chain reaction, girls across the audience began to scream almost out of their control. Elvis' wiggling had the same effect on these girls that he had on you and you weren't sure if you were prepared for that.

Within seconds, girls started to spring from their spots in the audience to be close to Elvis. High-pitched squeals filled the room alongside Elvis’ singing, leaving the men confused in their seats. You stand with the rest of the girls, trying your best to reach the front of the stage.

By the time you reached the front, your vison comes to focus on Elvis bent down towards a brunette girl. The closer he bent down, you noticed her leaning forward almost as if to kiss him. Heat flows through your body, a feeling you have never felt before. Jealousy? Everything else in the room becomes background noise, your eyes and mind only focused on the closeness between them. 

Their eyes connected as if Elvis put her in a trance, but once inches apart, Elvis breaks from her to rear back towards the stage. Your stomach twists thinking about what could have happened, causing your face to twinge slightly. Almost as if on cue, Elvis’ eyes happened to land on you. 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

After the show, you found your way towards the dressing rooms where you knew they would soon arrive. While awaiting for Elvis, you spoke with Gladys and Vector about how fantastic the performance was. Despite feeling hurt, you did not want to ruin the moment for Elvis or his parents.

The boys appeared from behind the stage and towards the dressing room, Elvis’ sweat glistening under the light as they got closer. You leaned against the wall to patiently await your turn to speak to Elvis, with your arms crossed over your chest. Gladys was the first to swarm Elvis, "Oh Bewbie,” She cooed, embracing him tightly with murmured compliments. 

Once Elvis made his way through, he found his way to you. Arms crossed and leaned against the wall, you had a slight pout placed upon your lips. Elvis' head tilted slightly at your stance, "Hey Bug'," He said as he approached you.

Your face softened into a small smile as you straightened to hug him, his arms enveloping you into a warm embrace. "That was-" You began, scrambling to find the words, "You were amazing, E," You settled, your grip around him tightening for a moment before pulling away to see his face.

"Thanks, darlin'," He spoke, his bright blue eyes fixated on your own. His hands placed onto the sides of your waist, feeling him inch closer like a magnet. Just as his face reached inches from yours, the heat of his breath fanned your face and your mind flashes to the girl in the same position just a while ago. The thought of the brunette girl caused you to slowly pull away from his tempting kiss, clearing your throat and looking towards the ground.

His eyebrows furrowed together in slight confusion, eyes darting between yours as if trying to read you. Elvis wasn't entirely sure what was bothering you but he was determined to find out. "C'mon, let's step in the dressing room, hm?" He offered his hand for you, trying his best not to attract the attention of others. You look around the room at everyone before your eyes land back on Elvis, placing your much smaller hand in his with a small nod.

Guiding you into the dressing room, Elvis closed the door behind him with a lock. You had stepped over towards the vanity, standing near the chair awaiting for Elvis to speak.

The raven haired boy turned around to face you, stepping towards the vanity. "I tried to kiss you but you pulled away from me," He finally said, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he takes a seat beside you. You stayed silent for a moment as you collected your thoughts.

"Talk to me, darlin’, did I do somethin' wrong?" He asked, bringing his hand to your own before lacing your fingers together. You inhale sharply, eyes focused on your intertwined fingers as you began. "You almost kissed her," You let the words slip, the stress of the past few hours finally out in the open.

His eyes softened at your words and his eyebrows relaxed as the realization set in. "Is that what this is about?" He began in a soft tone as he stepped closer towards you, his face coming inches away from your own as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. Even in this moment, you could feel your heart beating in your throat yet you couldn't keep your eyes off him.

"Bug, you're my bestest girl. No other girl can compare," His voice gentle as he stroked your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You knew from the look in his eyes that he was being truthful, but you still weren't quite done. "You were this close to her face, Elvis," You pointed out, using your pointer and middle finger to measure the short distance apart. "How am I supposed to know that you weren't going to kiss her or that she wouldn't kiss you?" You ask, a hint of aggravation in your voice.

"Are you jealous?" He asked in a teasing voice, trying to lighten the mood which earned a playful scoff from you. "Whatever," You mumbled teasingly, crossing your arms across your chest once again as you tried to fight a smile from growing upon your lips.

A low chuckle grumbled in his chest, "Darlin’, now you know that I'd never lie to you. I've made that known since day one," He explained in his slow southern drawl, wrapping his fingers around your wrists gently in attempt to uncross your arms.

"I have worked for years to get to this point with you, Lil' Momma. All the late night phone calls, the awkward family dinners, sneakin’ in your window when you’re grounded, stayin' over past my curfew and gettin' in trouble with momma," He started to list off, guiding your arms to relax down to your sides.

"You're all I've been thinkin' about since the day I met you. Those beautiful y/e/c eyes, those full pouty lips, everything. You're always on my mind. There ain't no girl that drives me as crazy as you, Y/N. Not even that lil’ brunette," His hand moved up to brush some of your hair behind your ear, causing your cheeks to heat.

To break the growing tension, and the throbbing foreign sensation forming below, your eyes advert to the floor. "All that is stage performance and nothin’ more, baby. No matter what happens on that stage, I've always got you on my mind," He rested his hand on your chin, gently lifting your head to force eye contact once again.

His words were reassuring to you, allowing you to relax from the stressful feeling glooming over you from the past couple hours. And now that you’ve had time to calm down, you’ve started to focus more on Elvis and his after-performance appearance. The previously slicked back hair had now come slightly disheveled, allowing strands of black hair to fall onto his face, which still glistened with sweat. The eyeliner he had carefully placed around his eyes had now smudged down to create a rebellious look. 

"Show me" You challenged. 

Elvis' eyebrow raised slightly, wondering if he heard you right. His eyes traveled across your face for a moment in thought, "Hm," He hummed lowly, sending vibrations through his chest and a tingling sensation through your body. "Show you what, Momma?" His lips curled into a small smirk, making your stomach flip.

"Show me that you want me, El-" You began to repeat yourself until you were cut off by the feeling of his warm, soft lips eagerly pressing against yours. Instantly you move your lips in sync against his as your arms instinctively move to wrap around the back of his neck. 

His larger hands were placed upon your waist, holding you flush against him as he moved his lips expertly against your own. He gently glided his tongue across your bottom lip, walking you backwards until your back pressed against the vanity. He swiped everything off the surface before lifting you onto the vanity, stepping in between your legs. The swift motion caused a small gasp to escape your lips and break the kiss, giving Elvis the opportunity to pepper kisses along the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. 

The feeling of his lips against your bare skin sends electricity through your body, forcing you to lean your head back to give him more access. Elvis takes the opportunity to begin pressing kisses down your jaw and neck, “You’re so damn beautiful,” He grumbled lowly against your neck as he started to gently nip at your skin. An involuntary moan escaped your lips at the feeling, earning a small groan from Elvis in response. 

He trailed kisses back up towards your lips as his hands began toying with the fabric of your blouse, pulling away to breathe as he rest his forehead against yours. His dark, lustful eyes scanned your face with an expression you’ve never seen before. “I want to make you feel good, Y/N,” He started, his voice raspy and low. “You trust me, baby?” He asked as his eyes finally landed on yours, awaiting a response, and your heart began to pound hard in your chest. “I trust you, E,” Your voice just above a whisper as you maintained eye contact, anticipating his next move.

Without another word, Elvis began to slowly lift your blouse as he broke eye contact to focus on your newly exposed skin. He discarded your blouse onto the floor which left you in a black bra, shivers running down your spine from the exposure. He soaked in the view only moments before reattaching his lips to your skin, pressing kisses down along your collarbone. Elvis’ long slender fingers ran down the top of your back until reaching the clasps of your bra, unhooking each of the hooks slowly. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” He grumbled against your skin, his kisses trailing down your chest and towards the valley of your breasts. 

You arch your back in response to the feeling, leaning your head back against the mirror of the vanity. “Don’t stop,” You breathed out, feeling a wetness begin to pool in your panties. As soon as the last hook came undone, the straps of the bra pooled down your shoulders until Elvis pulled the bra off completely. Your cheeks began to heat again, suddenly aware of your bare breasts being exposed to Elvis for the first time. “So, so perfect,” He groaned, kissing down to one of your breasts and cupping the other into his hand. You gasped softly, letting out a moan once his lips wrapped around your tender nipple. “Mmm,” You hummed out in pleasure, tangling your fingers into his hair as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. 

You leaned your head back against the mirror and close your eyes, tugging gently on his hair to signal you wanted more. A small whine broke from your lips once he pulled away from your breast, finally giving attention to the other. The building throbbing sensation becoming too much, you lift your hips slightly off the edge of the vanity to push towards Elvis’ hips. A small hiss escapes his lips from the contacts before he gently gripped your hips to still them, “This is all about you, darling,” He said once he pulled away from your chest.

You tilted your head to watch as Elvis got down onto his knees in between your legs. He hungrily began to kiss below your breasts, trailing down your stomach and covering every inch of your skin. “Lift your hips for me,” He instructed in a gentle tone as he tapped your hips with his fingers. As instructed, you lift your hips up enough for Elvis to tug your skirt down your legs and onto the floor alongside your other clothes.

Now left only in your black panties, you anticipated his movements as he leaned his head between your legs. Your eyes now focused intently as he pressed gentle, wet kisses along your hips and inner thighs. He focused on pleasuring you in all the best ways, wanting your first experience to be unforgettable.  

“You’re sure you want this, momma?” He asked one last time as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties, awaiting a response before continuing. You looked down into his eyes, giving him a small nod, “I want you,” You responded eagerly. That response was all he needed to take your panties off and throwing it into the growing pile, causing you to close your legs from the exposure on your soaked core.

Elvis gently pulled your legs apart, resting his hands upon your outer thighs to hold you in place as he began to press sloppy kisses along your inner thighs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation, eyes fixated on his lips as they moved closer to where you need him most. His lust-filled orbs meet your own as he pressed the softest kiss to your core, causing you to let out a soft whine.

"Please,” You begged and that was all Elvis needed as he began to run his tongue up your entrance towards your sensitive button. A moan fell from your lips from the new sensation and your head pressed back against the mirror once more. Elvis' eyes were trained on your face as he continued to pleasure you, circling his tongue into a pattern against your sensitive aching clit.

Your moans intensified with his movements, leaning your head down to look him in the eye. The sight of him between your thighs will be something you remember for awhile. "O-Oh my-" You gasped out once Elvis began to suck gently, tangling your fingers into his hair once more. As he picked up pace, you couldn't help but to tug at his hair from the intense pleasure you were feeling. Elvis groaned against you, sending vibrations through your clit and causing you to lift your hips off the vanity once again.

"Elvis-" You breathed out between your pleasure-filled moans, feeling an unfamiliar pit building within your stomach. His eyes were pitch black, fixated on your pleasure as he continued to work his tongue. "Come, baby," He hummed against your core and you moan out, feeling the building pressure reaching it's peak. Within moments, the pressure releases into bliss and left your legs in a shaky mess. Elvis slowed his tongue, riding out your high until you were a mess beneath him.

"My bestest girl," He praised, pressing one kiss to your lower stomach before grabbing your clothes off the floor. "Did you enjoy yourself?" Elvis asked with a wink and your cheeks heated. You nod sheepishly as you scoot off the vanity and your feet plant to the floor. "That felt amazing," You admit in a soft voice, your cheeks beyond cherry red as he began to redress you.

"You deserve to feel good. What my girl wants, my girl gets. You need reassurance? Oh I'll reassure you, princess," He explained with a small smirk upright on his lips as he finished tucking your blouse back into your skirt, as it was prior. This man will be the death of me, you think.

[crazylittlejester]

DAILY BRAINROT

My brain has started associating daily brainrot with getting ready to do homework, so now you're officially a part of my getting ready to do homework routine.

Going to try out color-coding the different topics, because I have a lot of ideas and my ADHD is acting up. (I promise I took my meds, it's just One of Those Days.)

I started working on a oneshot that's basically "what if I dumped a bunch of magical, spooky cryptid stuff in here" in response to a prompt from a writing group meeting. I don't really have any plot for it, but I do have a bit of worldbuilding stuff and a very long description of a house.

So it's another Hyrule-centric story featuring fae!Hyrule, except they're all kind of fae/cryptids. Supernatural, I suppose, is a more accurate description. I don't really have a good idea of what everyone will be, but there's going to be shape-shifters and ghosts and lots of creepy vibes because I'm shooting for the unsettling feeling that you get when you're afraid that the red eyes you see in the cornfield belong to something much more horrifying than a barn cat.

I think the term I'm looking for is gothic Midwest horror. Here's a link to the aesthetics wiki's entry on the topic in case you're curious.

Changing topics, I have what is probably too many ideas in my "LU Fanfiction Ideas" file in my notes app, so I'm thinking that maybe, once I've gotten some of my WIPs cleaned up and posted I could try doing some kind of ask game or tag game with them sort of like the WIP ask game that's still sort of circulating. I'd just make a list of the ideas and either write onshots/minifics for asks or have one of the tagged people pick what I work on. I'm not sure yet, mostly because I don't know if people would be interested and which one they'd prefer because I'm a bit too shy to just... toss it out into the fandom tag like that.

Time is still fighting me. It's taking longer than expected because every time I feel like I'm making progress something gets in the way. I really want to get his piece done because it establishes his plotline in the Emotional Support Loftwing series, and is supposed to be the accompaniment to a second piece that's probably from Warriors' point of view.

As a side note to that, I'm very excited to actually get around to that accompaniment because I get to write a whole bit about Sky's house on the Surface. (The town is called New Town and I love it.)

COLOR CODING. I FUCKING LOVE YOU. It makes it so easy to read oh my god (I keep forgetting to take my ADHD meds… it’s been weeks- whoops-)

THAT SOUNDS AWESOME, and don’t worry I’m very familiar with midwest horror shit. I come from the cornfields I’m one of the beasts that roam them at 4 am /hj

ooooooh that’d be cool!! I’m super interested, i can’t wait to see whichever one you decide on :)

I totally feel the ‘every time i feel like im making progress something gets in the way’ thing, I’m going through that rn with a fic. ALSO I LOVE THE TOWN.

(losing my mind over the color coding shit its so good for my little brain)

THANK YOU FOR THE BRAINROT :3