#thread; mother's day baking

[karemandohan1999]

A Cry for Help: My Family is Drowning in Pain and Despair, Please Help Us🙏

To every compassionate heart, to everyone who understands the meaning of mercy and humanity😭,

I write to you today with a heavy heart, struggling to find the words to describe what we are going through. Our lives have become a constant stream of pain and loss. We were barely surviving before, but today, everything has become even harder and crueler.

My mother, a woman who has never broken despite everything we've endured, sits by the fire every day to bake bread for us. We have no gas, no comforts, just fire and flour. With her tired hands, she feeds my sister’s children, and despite everything, she smiles at them, hiding her pain. That fire is all the warmth we have left.

Then the storm came, and it washed away our humble tent. The shelter that once protected us from the rain and cold is now a pool of water. My mother, my sisters, their children, and I, we all stand in the mud, looking for hope in each other’s eyes, but everything feels lost.

My little son, Hamoud, only 17 months old, doesn't understand why he can’t play anymore. He doesn’t know why everything around him is wet and cold. How can I explain to him that we’ve lost everything? How can I tell him that the world, which should have provided him safety, has abandoned us?

I write to you today, holding onto a small thread of hope, praying that you can be our support. We desperately need your help. Our lives are at risk, and our children are in danger. Your donation could save their lives, could restore our belief that someone still hears our cries. You are the lifeline we are waiting for.

With a heart that can no longer bear more pain, I beg you, please don’t leave us alone in this darkness. We need a new shelter, a roof to protect our children from this harsh cold. Every donation, no matter how small, is a new life for us and our children.

Donate and share💔🙏

$8,768 USD raised of $50,000 goal

Donate here 👇

@90-ghost @rawliverandgoronspice @imjustheretotrytohelp @timogsilangan @el-shab-hussein @buttercuparry @school-of-the-infected @atlas-of-galaxies @staff @soon-palestine @palestine-info-uncensored @sayruq @xinakwans @dlxxv-vetted-donations @komsomolka @remindertoclick @el-shabazzgifted @atlas-of-galaxies @ghostofanonpast @gothhabiba @ashwantsafreepalestine @xclownypunkx @fairuzstuff

#SaveHamoud #UrgentCryForHelp #DonateNow

[itsswritten]

butterfly kisses

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K (honestly it's just a little drabble)

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, lots of fluff, mating frenzy

Summary: Azriel just can't get enough of your wings <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had thanked the Mother every day since the bond snapped, and even more when you accepted it. When Mor had introduced you into his life only a couple of years ago, he never imagined this would be the outcome.

Azriel vividly remembered the first night he met you. It was another gathering at Rita’s, one of the many that had unfolded, now peace settled over the land. 

Mor with playful determination had pulled you over to their table, arm looped around yours– almost in a way that said she wasn’t going to let you escape. He had noticed the faint blush that creeped up your face to your pointed ears, merely from the proximity of your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. He recalled how you offered a shy little curtsy in their presence, that had led to the whole table stifling their laughter. Rhys kindly explained that such formalities were not necessary, especially not in Rita’s of all places. Azriel did his best to contain his mirth at the display, all the while chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the chuckle leaving his lips. He truly couldn’t get over how adorable you were, he'd found himself captivated by your endearing innocence. 

And that was only the start.

Mor explained how she’d met you in town one day and had essentially thrusted her friendship onto you, and it really didn’t take long for Azriel and his family to do the same. 

You were so sweet and caring, and slotted into Azriel’s life so easily that he found it hard to remember a time when you weren’t there at all. Your kindness towards the Archeron sisters, guiding them through the intricate transitions of fae life that they still at times struggled with. Nyx was absolutely enamoured with you, oftentimes seeking your company over his actual family. But they didn’t blame him, because they all did same. Your calm sweet nature was addictive to them all, especially Azriel.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Azriel found himself seeking every opportunity to unravel all your layers. He wanted to know everything about you. From your favourite foods, to the books that captured your attention.

His infatuation all made sense when the bond snapped. 

It was the last solstice.

Azriel had noticed how beautiful you were looking, as you always were. But you were clad in a breathtaking pale pink summer dress, the neckline delicately showcasing your décolletage. As you moved with a natural grace, the fabric billowed ever so slightly at the waist, accentuating your silhouette in a manner that held attention.

Or at least held Azriel’s attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He watched you carefully navigate the chaos of the room. Nyx in one arm, giving Feyre some rest and reprieve in her pregnant state. Your other hand bringing in the cake Elain had spent all morning baking. Amidst the flurry of activity, you had been so close to dropping the cake. But Azriel's steady hand intervened just in time, grabbing the plate and taking it off you. Except in that moment your hands touched, grazed past one another in a way they had so many times before. 

But that time had been different.

It was Azriel’s turn to almost drop the cake. That all consuming warmth flooded his chest catching him off guard. A golden thread connecting itself to you. The mating bond. Finally.

And based on the bright red flush covering your cheeks, it was clear you’d felt it too. You’d fled the room then, overcome with emotion and what this new revelation meant. 

Though, it didn’t take long for Azriel to coax you round.

Ever the gentleman, he courted you. Taking you on the most thoughtful dates and spoiling you with bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He would leave little love notes and poetry for you to find. That it was really no surprise to anyone, when you decided to accept the bond.

That was only three weeks ago now.

Yourself and Azriel were deep in the mating frenzy. 

Rhys had kindly offered one of his private residences he had on the outskirts of Night. A smaller cottage, but with all the privacy you both needed. And Azriel had taken advantage of that privacy eliciting sounds from you that he would cherish forever and never tire hearing.

And then there were your wings. 

You had revealed them to him the first night after accepting the mating bond, and, Gods, was he done for.

Azriel had taken it upon himself, in the earlier months, to really vet you. His dedication to his role as Spymaster served as a guise for his self-indulgent exploration of you, delving into the intricate details of your being with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Not only had he discovered all the things you love, but he searched for details of who and what you were.

Finding himself holed up in the library at times, hours spent devoted to aquainiting himself to the type of fairy you were. 

He knew you had wings, was the type of fairy whose wings were the delicate kind. Most kept them concealed with magic. Yet, Azriel couldn't shake the thought that perhaps they were hidden not only for protection but also out of reverence for their breathtaking beauty. They were mesmerising. Enough to trap Azriel into some kind of trance. 

And perhaps possessively so, he was grateful not many males were privy to this part of you.

He was watching you now, laying on your front. Bare. Just how he’d left you when he took a moment to freshen up. You were giggling, your legs up and feet fluttering behind you while propped up over something.

“What are you doing, my love?” Azriel purred inquisitively, stepping closer towards the bed.

“Oh…Feyre was just checking in. Asking how much longer we might be,” he could hear you smile when you spoke, and watched as with the brush of your hand the magical parchment and ink disappeared that you’d been conversing with Feyre on.

“It’s not even been that long,”

“We’ve been gone three weeks–”

“And we’ll be gone 300 hundred more,”

You chuckled at his response, “Az, we do need to go back at some point. They need us.”

“I need you more.” There was no negotiating. Your family would be lucky to see you both before the next solstice at this rate.

Not that Azriel needed the frenzy to be satiated by you, but it truly was driving him. The primal need for you, overwhelming. The pair of you only stopped when you both fell into a slumber from exhaustion. And even then, there were many times you found each other in a sleep exhausted haze, tangled within and inside one another again.

The bed dipped either side of your legs, you were still on your front but could feel your mate over you. He had paused though, his eyes falling over your beautiful pink wings. The iridescent skin reflecting lights across the room. He had almost cried when he first saw them after you accepted the bond, mesmerised and overwhelmed by their beauty.

Getting to see this part of you, a part of you that was so private, stirred a gratefulness inside him. But there was something else too, a possessiveness that had slowly been creeping up his mind recently.

In the past three weeks, you had both done every possible maneuver, tried every kind of love making– fucking, screwing, mating. You’d even made him a crumbling wet mess just from playing with his wings. 

But he hadn’t touched yours.

No, they looked so delicate and soft, too beautiful to touch, that he hadn’t dared. 

You felt him situate himself behind you, his warm naked body lightly laying on you, his chest resting on your behind. His arms wormed their way under your hips to get comfy, and you splayed your wings flat against your back to fit him.

“Az?” you asked curiously, glancing slightly over at your shoulder to catch him in your peripheral.

He didn’t respond though, not with words. You felt his soft warm breath blowing on the membrane of your right wing, making your squirm under the touch. Your wing fluttering a little in the air.

“How sensitive are they? Too sensitive for me to touch?” You heard him behind you.

“Hm..” you tilted your head slightly to think, “They’re delicate, but you can touch them. Gently.”

You were waiting for him to wriggle his hand from out beneath you but instead you felt something warm and wet run against the bottom of your wing.

You couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the soft touch. Azriel had taken it upon himself to use the tip of his tongue to explore this part of you, a part of you that was still very new to him. He felt you wriggle under him, and he shifted placing his full body weight on you so you couldn’t move.

His tongue traced the ridge of your wing, and he wasn’t letting up. Not when he’d made that sound from you. He wanted more of that. He moved and pressed his tongue flat against the delicate skin, evoking another moan from you.

“Does that feel good my little butterfly?” he purred, you could feel the smirk on his lips against your wing as he pressed a kiss on them.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his teasing, but it felt too good to do anything other than surrender to his touch.

“I want to hear your words,” he spoke a little more assertively this time, before swiping  his tongue along one of the tubular lines that spread like veins across your wings.

“Yes..” You huffed, before another moan slipped past your lips breathlessly. “It feels good Az…” You felt your body heat, your cheeks for sure rosy, grateful your mate could only hear not see the reaction he was having on you. 

He chuckled softly then, the vibrations from his lips skirting across your wings making them twitch.

“My sensitive little butterfly, ” the new nickname only made you squirm more, your core growing slick at his predatory attention.

Azriel moved his hand then, the one caught under your left hip, so effortlessly moving down to your core, cupping your wet slit as he licked the pink shiny membrane again. 

“Azriel…” you gasped, but his touch didn’t relent.

You knew this was only the start.

a/n: just some lovely little fluffy mating frenzyness! I just love these two, so I may expand a little more on the wings universe and their relationship if you guys would like to see that! Maybe some domestic bliss, or if there's any scenes you'd like me to write for them or parts of their story you're interested in then I'm happy to explore. Also this was written fairly quickly, so please ignore any typos, I only did a quick little check hehe - Lottie

p.s. also thanks to @thisiskaylin who inspired the nickname! She commented on the wings fic that butterfly would be the perfect nickname and I just had to use it <3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[sodavizz]

— Christmas Won't Be The Same Without You.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff again :3

Wc: 1.3k+

Author's Note: Tadaa!! It's almost Christmas time baby! I'm super duper excited as it is already half of November!! Are you all ready to celebrate it, cause I sure am!

The snow was falling softly outside, coating the world in a blanket of white. The small town where Daisuke had grown up was quiet, the streets lined with festive lights and decorations. Inside his parents' house, however, there was nothing quiet about it. The living room was alive with the hum of Christmas music playing softly in the background, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air, and the soft crackle of a fire burning in the hearth. It was the perfect Christmas setting, and you were sharing it with Daisuke.

“Can you believe it?” Daisuke said, his voice full of excitement as he stood beside you in the entryway. His eyes sparkled with that familiar joy you adored. “Christmas at my parents’ house. I'm sure they're just as excited you are to meeting each other!”

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you as he took your hand, pulling you into the house. “I’m really happy to be here with you, Daisuke. This place feels so… cozy.”

His grin widened. “It’s definitely cozy. And my mom’s cooking is legendary, so get ready for some serious holiday feasting. You might not even have room for dessert by the end of the night.”

You laughed, feeling your stomach growl at the thought of what awaited. You’d heard a lot about Daisuke’s mom’s cooking, but this would be your first time tasting it. You could already smell the roast turkey and baked goods wafting from the kitchen.

The house was warm, full of life, and adorned with decorations that felt like they had been carefully placed with love. Christmas stockings hung from the mantle above the fireplace, each one bearing a name stitched in gold thread, and a grand tree stood in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments, tinsel, and fairy lights. The atmosphere was peaceful but bustling, with Daisuke’s parents—his mother in a festive red apron and his father pulling drinks from the fridge—filling the space with energy and laughter.

Daisuke led you to the living room where his family was already gathered. His parents, always warm and welcoming, greeted you with open arms.

“Ah, there you are, so you're the one my son keeps going on and on about!” His mother beamed as he mumbled something to her, seeming embarrassed she would expose him about that. She then stepped forward to give you a hug. “We’ve been waiting for you both. Everything’s ready for dinner, but we can always add more if you’re hungry before the big meal!”

“You must be starving after the drive!” his father added with a grin, holding out a glass of eggnog. “Don’t be shy, help yourself.”

You chuckled and accepted the drink, glancing over at Daisuke, who was practically glowing in his own way, standing close by with a proud smile.

“You must be excited to have us here,” you teased.

He nodded eagerly. “Are you kidding? I’ve been counting down the days to Christmas here with you and my family. I think I’ve spent almost every Christmas here since I was a kid, and this time it’s even better because you’re with me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. There was something about being here, in the warmth of his family’s home, surrounded by love, that made everything feel like it was falling into place.

“I’m really happy to be here, too,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “It feels so... right.”

Daisuke grinned and reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning to his parents. “I think it’s time for us to get the party started! We still need to do the Secret Santa exchange, and I’m pretty sure everyone’s excited for that.”

His mom laughed. “Oh yes, we can’t forget about that! We all got something special this year, so I hope everyone’s ready for a little holiday fun.”

Dinner was a true feast. The table was piled high with everything you could imagine—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, roasted vegetables, and an assortment of freshly baked rolls. In the center, a large cranberry sauce dish sat alongside platters of sweet potatoes and baked brussels sprouts. Daisuke’s mom had clearly outdone herself, and as you dug into your meal, you could tell that everyone was savoring each bite.

Between mouthfuls, you shared stories with Daisuke’s family, laughing and chatting about everything from your childhood traditions to more recent adventures. Daisuke’s dad was particularly fond of telling embarrassing stories about Daisuke when he was little, which had everyone in stitches. Daisuke, for his part, seemed unbothered by it all, even joining in with some of his own stories about his mischievous younger days.

But it wasn’t just the food or the laughter that made this night feel special—it was the way Daisuke kept glancing at you with that soft, affectionate look in his eyes, the way his hand would subtly brush against yours under the table, or how he’d pull you close during moments when no one was looking, as if to remind you that this was your time together.

--

After dinner, Daisuke insisted on taking you outside to see the backyard, which, as it turned out, had a stunning view of the town covered in snow. The Christmas lights from nearby houses reflected off the snow, creating a soft, magical glow that made the night feel like something out of a holiday movie.

“Come here,” Daisuke said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and guiding you to the porch. “This is one of my favorite parts of Christmas—just looking out over the snow. My family used to come out here every Christmas Eve when I was younger and just… enjoy the peace.”

You stood with him, watching the snow fall gently, the cool air brushing against your skin. His presence beside you, his warmth, was enough to make everything feel even more magical.

“I never imagined I’d get to spend Christmas like this,” you murmured, leaning into him. “It’s been perfect.”

Daisuke smiled down at you, his fingers threading through yours as he pulled you a little closer. “I’ve been looking forward to this for so long, just to share it all with you. Christmas is better when you’re with the people you love, and that’s all I want for us.”

You leaned up to kiss him, the moment soft, gentle, and full of meaning. When you pulled away, Daisuke’s face was alight with happiness, his eyes sparkling.

“Merry Christmas, the most beautiful person I've ever seen,” he said softly.

You chuckled at his compliment as you stared deeply into his eyes in an, oh such affectionate way.

“Merry Christmas, Handsome,” you whispered back.

Later, as the evening drew on, everyone gathered around the tree for the Secret Santa exchange. You’d gotten Daisuke’s mom, and after some playful teasing, she opened the gift you’d picked out—a beautiful hand-knitted scarf, which she immediately wrapped around her neck with a delighted laugh. Then, Daisuke gave you your gift, a small box wrapped with care. When you opened it, you found a delicate silver bracelet with a charm that read together, a reminder of how far you’d come and how much you meant to each other.

You blinked back tears as you hugged him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I love it, Daisuke. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, his voice full of affection as he kissed your forehead. “This is just the beginning of our holiday together. I want to make this Christmas the best one yet.”

As the evening wound down, the two of you snuck off to a quiet corner of the living room, away from the laughter and chatter, to enjoy each other’s company in peace. With the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding you, Daisuke wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“This is all I ever wanted,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “To be with you, here, now.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family, the love between you, and the gentle snowfall outside, you knew he was right. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together.

“Merry Christmas, Daisuke,” you whispered, kissing him again.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling softly, his heart as full as yours.

[keerysfreckles]

apple pie — CEDRIC DIGGORY

pairing: cedric diggory x fem!hufflepuff!reader

summary: when cedric can't find y/n in the dining hall, hufflepuff common room, library, or her room, he knows exactly where she'd be.

warnings: inspired by apple pie by lizzy mcalpine !!! really short, use of y/n, established relationship.

a/n: guess who finally watched the hp movies 🤭 and i kinda hate the ending but oh well!

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

cedric diggory looked at his wrist for the fifth time that day, slightly smiling to himself as his eyes meet the yellow and black thread wrapped around his skin.

he remembered exactly when he retrieved the bracelet.

it was his second year at hogwarts, her first, and she was more than nervous. even more so when she got put into hufflepuff. althought everyone in the house was extra welcoming to the girl that night, her nerves still got the best of her.

she kept to yourself most times, either reading a book in the common room, napping in your dorm, or making bracelets, a craft she had picked up from your mother.

she were making progress on a bracelet she had started some time ago, and a taller redheaded boy stood beside the chair she were sitting in.

"do you always make these bracelets?" he asked.

the girl immediately jumped, startled by his presense.

she nods, "yeah, i absolutely love making them," she smiles.

"do you think you could make me one?" the boy asks, a lopsided smile playing on his lips.

not even ten minutes pass and cedric hears a knock on his dormitory door, followed by the voice of a girl. his roomnates all fuss about who should get the door, making cedric nominate himself as volunteer.

he swings the door open, his eyes crinkling as he smiles at the girl in front of him. his eyes look down at the bracelet in her hands.

"you've finished it already?" he asks, surprised.

she nods, and holds the bracelet open for his wrist. he complies, holding his arm out as he watches the girl tie the colored thread around his wrist.

"thank you," he pauses, not remembering the girl's name from when she was called up for the sorting hat.

"y/n l/n" she responds. "thank you," now it's her turn to pause.

"cedric diggory."

cedric's movements faulted as he bumped into a fellow hufflepuff, on his way to the common room.

"sorry about that," he immediately apologizes, helping the student up and handing her back her books that fell on the floor.

"it's all good!" she replies.

while cedric has another hufflepuff in his presence, he can't help but ask, "have you seen y/n anywhere? she wasn't in her potions class earlier."

the girl shrugs, "maybe she's in the common room? she might've left class pretty quickly."

cedric thanks the girl, before walking towards the hufflepuff common room. to be fair that was where he planned on checking first, so the question to the girl was just the back up he needed.

however as soon as he stepped foot into the yellow themed room, his girlfriend was no where to be found. he went up the stairs and to the right to check her dorm, but her backpack and books weren't even in there.

cedric goes over the mental checklist in his head of where his love could be.

he immediately crosses off any classes, considering her last one ended an hour ago. now he can cross off the common room and her own room. he decides to head to the dining hall, maybe she got hungry before dinner?

well his theory was quickly proved wrong as she was no where to be seen in the large dining hall.

he went over the mental checklist again, as he made his way through the castle towards the library. surely you had to be in there right?

wrong.

cedric checked the sections where he knew y/n's favorite books and topics were. he checked the herbology, potions and history of magic sections, yet there was no sign of her.

as cedric exited the library, he finally thought of the last place he knew you'd be. the kitchen.

he remembers y/n telling stories of how she'd always bake with her mother during the holidays, and as thanksgiving was coming up, cedric could only pray you'd be in the kitchen.

cedric felt a small weight being lifted off his shoulders after he opened the double doors. there she was, her back was facing him as she stood against the island in the middle of the room. it smelled of apples, honey, and cinnamon, as cedric watched for a moment as she seemed to be folding something in front of her.

the door behind him finally closed shut, making y/n turn to face him.

"oh, ced! what are you doing here?" she turns back to her task at hand.

"i was looking for you. couldn't seem to find you anywhere after your last class," cedric comes up behind y/n, resting his head on her shoulder while holding her waist. "what are you working on in here?"

y/n smiles, "my mom's famous apple pie."

cedric hums, "my favorite." he finally notices he folded pie dough in y/n's hands.

"would you like any help?"

y/n nods, "yes please," she points to the bowl besides the stove, "you could put the apples in the pie for me."

cedric begins to help y/n, watching diligently as she folds the dough into the pie pan, cutting off any excess crust. he carefully spoons in the apples, not wanting the crust or apples to get ruined in any way. he even offers to put it in the oven for her, which she happily obliges to.

the two now stood besides the island counter, content with the silence, until y/n breaks it.

"you still have that bracelet?" she fiddles with the thread almost falling off cedric's arm.

cedric nods, "of course, i've never taken it off."

y/n can't help but laugh, "you cannot be serious."

cedric simply nods again, "i'm more than serious love. keep it on every day, during quidditch, and even when i sleep and shower."

y/n begins to play with the faded yellow and black strings, as she leans her head against his chest. he brings his other hand to her head, rubbing his thumb up and down over her hair.

the couple seem to enjoy the quietness they can always deliver. they don't need to be doing anything fancy to enjoy each other's company. simply being by one another was more than enough.

y/n pulled her head back to look up in her boyfriend's eyes.

"what?" his voice was quiet.

y/n shakes her head slightly, "nothing, just admiring you."

cedric feels a small blush crawling up his neck towards his cheeks. he smiles before leaning down slightly to connect his lips with y/n's.

"i love you," cedric mumbles against her lips.

y/n giggles as if this was the first time he's shared those three words to her.

"i love you more," she responds.

[the-californicationist]

Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago… 

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle. 

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring. 

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin. 

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt. 

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep. 

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements. 

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned. 

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman. 

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands. 

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you. 

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger. 

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky. 

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently, 

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further, 

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head, 

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win. 

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers. 

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through. 

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle. 

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic. 

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop. 

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles, 

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.”

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside. 

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown. 

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths. 

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld. 

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you. 

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen. 

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you. 

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations. 

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth. 

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there. 

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season. 

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold. 

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs. 

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin, 

“How about this, hm?” 

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it. 

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it. 

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it. 

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it. 

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm. 

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him. 

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body. 

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain. 

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion. 

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list. 

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines. 

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout. 

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain. 

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout. 

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction. 

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick. 

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep. 

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it. 

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

[hjparisian]

birthdays through the ages- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x gn!reader w: none just fluff summary: (y/n) helps harry celebrate his birthday throughout the years a/n: disappeared for a hot min and tumblr changes its layout?? anyways dont mind that this is late and long. decided to try second pov again for this story to see how i feel but idk. what do you guys prefer? (y/f/c)= your favorite color

You've been friends with Harry ever since your guys first year at Hogwarts. One day in first year, you, Ron and Harry were talking about birthdays since Ron's twelfth birthday was coming up. Harry had mentioned that he never really received anything, counting that the Dursley's hated his guts.

From that moment on, you decided to make Harry's birthdays the best.

second year

This would be your first year getting something for Harry. You weren't sure what exactly to get him, considering you didn't have much saved from your allowance, also because he was trapped with the Dursley's.

You had decided to make you and Harry matching friendship bracelets with some beads left from an early interest of crafting. You made both bracelets using red and (y/f/c) beads. It was simple, not wanting anything too flashy for Harry incase he actually wears it.

You had also made a card for him and added some candy from a previous trip to Honeydukes. You packed everything off in one bag before sending your owl to deliver the gift.

When you finally met up with Harry at King's Cross Station, your eyes light up as you see the bracelet on the green eyed boy's arm. Harry came up and gave you a hug.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

third year

This year, you had actually saved up and set aside money to be able to afford a present for Harry. During a trip to Diagon Alley with your parents, you had wandered into a little shop that carried jewelry and charms. As you were ready to give up, something caught your eye.

It was a golden snitch charm.

It was a little on the pricy side for the charm, but you'd still have a bit of money left over. So you bought it. The store owners had given you the option to put an engraving on it, so you did, opting to put Harry's initials on it.

Once you returned home, you decided to bake treacle tarts for him, with the help from your mother. While the treacle tarts were baking, you had gone to your room to make Harry's birthday card, signing it with a heart by your name.

The next morning you had sent your owl to deliver the gifts. When the owl had returned later in the evening, it had a letter in its beak from Harry. It was him thanking you for the presents and making his birthday better, and that he loved the charm and had attached it to his school bag right away.

fourth year

The summer of Harry's fourteenth birthday was a bit wild in your opinion. You would be spending a couple weeks in America with your parents. Unfortunately, this was during Harry's birthday so you couldn't send his presents on his actual birthday.

Fortunately for you though, Ron had invited you to join him and his family to watch the Quidditch World cup. He mentioned that Hermione and Harry would be there as well. You had decided to give Harry his present in person. Your owl is probably thanking you for this genius decision.

While on your trip, you had stopped by a clothing store and spotted a red jumper. You had remembered that Harry didn't really have a lot of clothes of his own, most, if not all, were hand me downs from his cousin Dudley. You had decided to buy it along with a shirt for him.

The night before you had to go to the Weasley's, you were getting Harry's gifts together. But it felt like there was something missing. It need more of a personal touch.

You search your room for something until you came upon a little heart charm with your initial on it. Should you make another bracelet you wonder? A different idea pops into your head though. You grab the red jumper and find thread a similar color to it. Turning the jumper inside out, you take the left sleeve and place the tiny charm under the cuff and sew it in.

You wrapped the gift and set it aside your luggage so you would remember to take it with you. As you finally head to bed, you felt a little giddy about giving Harry his present, hoping he'll love it.

Thankfully, he did.

Harry was in his shared room with Ron, who was asleep. He was looking at gift you gave him and decided to try the jumper on. He felt something in the left sleeve and rolled it up to find the small heart shaped charm with your initial on it.

The boy couldn't help but smile.

fifth year

This was the first year you'd actually be with Harry for his birthday, though this was due to unfortunate circumstances from Harry's side as well as the Order coming back together.

You were brought to 12 Grimmauld Place around the same time as Ron, due to your parents being invited to the Order. Though because of this, you didn't have an opportunity to find a present for Harry, which resorted you to your baking skills you started developing in third year.

After asking Sirius for permission to use the kitchen, you get started on working on Harry's favorite, treacle tart. Things were going pretty well, but then the boy you were making the treat for had entered the kitchen, which you should've been expecting.

"(Y/N)?"

"Oh, hey Harry," you said to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Just baking, what are you doing here?"

"Oh uh, I was looking for you actually," Harry said. "I was just wondering where you were."

You smiled a bit, enjoying the fact that Harry was looking for you.

Harry cleared his throat before speaking. "So, what are you baking?"

Now, should you be honest with him and tell him that you were making something for him? Or lie and push him out?

"Well, I'm making treacle tarts, for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, for you. I was gonna surprise you with them after dinner," you told him.

"Oh," he said. "Guess I ruined the surprise, I'm sorry."

"I suppose you did, but I don't think it matters anyways. You'd still eat them won't you?"

"Of course I will," Harry said. "They're delicious. I still remember when you made them for me for my thirteenth birthday."

You were a little surprised that he remembered that.

"My mom helped me with them," you said. "I've gotten better though. Been able to do it myself." Harry just nods.

"So," You began. "Wanna learn how I make them?"

Harry smiles and gives a nod as you start getting another batch ready so the rest of the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place could enjoy some. The outcome was a bit messy, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Harry likes to think this was one of his better birthdays thanks to you.

sixth year

For Harry's sixteenth birthday, you managed to convince your parents to let you go to the Dursley's house to attempt to take Harry out for his birthday. You side apparated with them to the house and was being given a lecture on being careful and sticking by Harry before they left.

It was a bit awkward when Harry's uncle Vernon had opened the door. You can feel his piercing eyes judging you once you asked for Harry. Lucky for you Harry had appeared right behind Vernon once you asked. It didn't take much convincing to take Harry out, Vernon seeming delighted to be rid of the boy for most of the day.

You and Harry arrived at a cafe for lunch, since both of you hadn't eaten yet. The both of you had ordered your desired meal and chatted about the summer, Harry telling you all about the terribleness of the Dursley's. When it came time to pay, Harry was about to take his wallet until you took the check and handed the money to the waiter.

"You didn't have to pay for me you know?" Harry told you as you exited the cafe.

"Of course I have to!" You said. "It is your birthday after all. So, what do you want to do now?"

The two of you spent the day doing whatever Harry wanted, which felt odd to him considering the Dursley's would always ignore him but he felt some sense of happiness. There was a small arcade in town that you and Harry went to. Harry won most of games but sometimes he'd let you win.

Your guys next stop was to the movies to watch one of the new movies Harry was interested in seeing, but of course, the Dursleys would never take him, especially since their little Duddy-kins hated it. You guys decided to just share a popcorn together. Everytime your guys hand touch, you'd feel your cheeks heat up but you were enjoying the little touches. Little did you know, Harry was feeling the same way.

Your guys final two destinations were the dinner and the park, deciding to kill two birds with one stone by bringing take out to the park and watching the sunset.

"Thank you for everything (Y/N)," Harry said to you.

"Of course Harry. It's your birthday and I wanted you to be able to have the most of it."

"I appreciate it, I really do."

You smiled at him. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."

seventh year

This would be the year Harry would be of age in the Wizarding World. Mrs. Weasley had been planning a party for Harry, considering everyone would be residing in the house for Bill and Fleur's wedding the following day.

Earlier in the summer you had gone to a jewelry store in Diagon Alley. You remember Harry saying he had been wanting some more rings, as he's been wearing a ring Sirius gave him prior to his death.

As you were browsing, one of the clerks had approached you and showed you a special ring, with a twin. It was one that would warm up based on how fast the heart beat of the other ring holder is. You were sold on it, planning to keep the second ring to yourself.

After breakfast the morning of Harry's birthday, you asked him to meet in the room he was staying in privately. Hermione, knowing what was going on, helped by keeping Ron away from the room.

"So what did you brought me up here for?" Harry asked as he closed the door behind you.

You pulled out the small box with the ring from your pocket, handing it to Harry.

"I wanted to give you your present privately. Happy birthday Harry."

Harry took the present from your hands and began to open it. He pulled the ring from the box and examined it. It was a silver band with a small heart engraving on the inside of it. Harry put it on his left middle finger and started to feel a slight warmth from it.

"It's a magical ring. It gets warm based on how fast the other person who has the second ring is." You told him, bringing your hand out showing a similar ring to him. "I have the other one."

"I love it. I really do." Harry told you.

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I'm glad you do."

Whether it be some spurt of confidence or you not thinking, you decided to do something a bit bold and kiss Harry's cheek.

"Let's head back down. Don't want them to wonder why we were taking long," You told him as you grab his hand to pull him out the door.

As you guys head downstairs, the both of you could feel the rings warm up again.

post war

Harry's birthday came too soon to him. Having successfully defeating Voldemort what felt like not too long ago, he had no interest celebrating. Why celebrate when so many of his loved ones died because of him?

You had no intention of pushing Harry to do anything for his birthday, but you still wanted to remind him that it is a special day. You woke up before Harry to prepare him breakfast. As you were finishing up, you heard some foot steps entering the kitchen.

"Love?" a voice said.

"Morning Harry."

"What are you doing up so early? Usually I'd be the one that wakes up first," he says as he comes over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I was preparing breakfast," you told him as you plate the eggs you made.

"You woke up early for that? I'm always fine with waiting for you to wake up to start making breakfast."

You chuckled a bit. "I did this because it's your birthday Harry. Just wanted to surprise you." A small oh leaves Harry's mouth.

You brought the plates to the table and started pushing Harry to sit down and start eating. Once you finished your plate, you stood up and placed your dishes in the sink.

"Give me a second, I'll be back," you told Harry.

When you entered the room, you went straight to look under the bed, grabbing the box that contained Harry's present. How he didn't find it? Only Merlin knows how. Grabbing it, you went back to table the table and handed it to Harry.

"Happy birthday Harry. Open it."

The boy unwrapped the present, revealing a book with a plain black book. He grabbed it and opened to the first page which had a photo of you and him together back in first year and another with eleven year old Harry and Ron. As Harry turned the pages, he saw that all of them contained memories from their years at Hogwarts. From him catching his first snitch, to the Yule Ball, to one of the Quidditch parties in sixth year. As he got toward the end, he realized there were still empty pages left.

"I know Hogwarts might be the last thing you wanna think about right now. But I thought this would remind you all the good stuff that happened," you said to him. "I left some pages empty so we could continue it together."

"(Y/N), this is wonderful. And you did this yourself? Where did you even get these photos?"

"That's a secret I'll never tell," you winked at him.

Harry stood up to give you a hug, your arms wrapping around his well toned body. Being in his arms felt like home.

"I love you so much," Harry told you.

"I love you too." You said to him. "Now, my dear Harry. What do you think we should do today?"

"In all honesty," he began saying. "I just wanna spend the day with you and cuddle. Maybe make treacle tarts."

"As you wish love," you said, as you play with the two rings on Harry's hand. One was the ring you gave him on his seventeenth birthday, and the other was his engagement ring.

[esotericmama]

Wives and Mothers Labour

I want to point out the amount of labour and work a woman living in a traditional lifestyle would do, since people often are quiet snide and rude about wives/mothers being "lazy" and "sitting around all day".

- childcare, changing, feeding, washing and caring for children, in many cases educating them as well, even a child went on to formal education, their early education was likely their mother teaching them speech, letters, numbers, colours and shapes, etc.

- food. I think in the modern world of take out and instant meals everywhere, many people have forgotten the labour behind preparing food, especially if you're not using electrical appliances. Women would be up early lighting the fires, grinding the corn to make flour, churning their butter, baking the bread,

- farming. Taking care of the household Livestock, milking animals, feeding and watering, collecting eggs. Tending to the gardens and crops, planting and harvesting. (This was a shared labour of all the household, but women certainly pulled their weight)

- clothes. Sewing and mending, making cloths for the family, in many traditional cultures women even spin the thread from scratch and wove the fabric on the loom as well (not to mention laundry!)

- there were many other household products to be made as well, like making the soaps and candles for the family to use throughout the year

The whole bored and unstimulated housewife meme is a product of a very specific culture, the modern American 1950s suburban lifestyle, it is not reflective of most cultures and time periods at all. Just because these women never received a paycheck doesn't mean their labour is worthless and I think it should be appreciated and admired for the amount of work they did to run and maintain their households.

[hyunvom]

passing notes in secrecy

synopsis: life's not that easy when you're in love with the prettiest boy who just happens to be an idol, but you'll make it, right?

cw: childhood friends to lovers, smut, idol!hyun

word count: 1,1k

In the soft hush of midnight's embrace, you tiptoed through the corridors of stardust and dreams. Your heart a symphony of secrecy and longing.

You've been with him for five months, even though you've known him your whole life, long before the world knew the crescendo of his name and fame was but a distant dream. Your stories were woven together in the tender threads of childhood's innocence. You used to be just kids, sharing stories and secrets under the benevolent shade of the old oak tree in your neighbourhood's park down the road, where the houses were all painted in a beautiful cinnamon color. You would visit each other every day, some days at his house, some others at yours. His mother would always welcome you with a huge smile painted across her face and freshly bakes cookies, always. You'd lie on the grass, or the beach sand, or the wooden floors of his room.

As your teenage years unfurled like pages in a book, your friendship deepened into something more profound. In the golden haze of sunsets and the soft whispers of wind, you found yourselves drawn together by an invisible string. He wrote a song about you one day, when he was around the age of 15 and you 14. All the unspoken words of his heart spilled into paper. With trembling hands and a courage down from the depths of his affection, he slipped the parchment into your school bag, a secret serenade to the girl who held his heart. You started dating that summer. You remember it as the best summer of your life, and the last one before you lost him.

That following fall, he embarked on a journey of trading the familiar comforts of home for the uncertain allure of a music company's door. He always wanted this, he would always talk about wanting it. And he was truly an artist. He wrote beautifully, his words always so tender and artistic, he would dance like a god, moving like water, and his voice was as beautiful and soft as one could be. You always believed in him and encouraged him to try, and never thought about what follows all this. And he got in. He made it. He made it and you lost him and yet you would not want it any other way, because the love you shared and the bond was not a common one.

He trained for two years, two years of barely seeing each other, he basically lived inside the walls of his company, practicing hard, his dancing, his singing, his rap. You met the people he would debut with once, and they were lovely. You had dinner with all 8 of them that day.

"You guys do know if we actually debut you have to like, broke up right?" the one named Jisung said.

The table fell silent and someone visibly kicked him under the table but you can't remember who it was now. Hyunjin had looked at Jisung angrily yet shocked he brought it up, like they had talked about this before and he could not believe he said it in front of me, and then just continued finishing his food while taking huge gulps of his wine.

"What do you mean? Why?" I had asked.

"It's dangerous that you're still dating now, actually. If the company finds out Hyunjin's definitely getting kicked out for not focusing on his debut. It's strict as hell, you know this" Jisung continued explaining, in a soft sorry tone.

Hyunjin had stood up and went outside. He used to smoke sometime here and there when he was really tired or stressed. You followed him outside the restaurant were he opened a new pack of cigarette and stood right next to him, reaching for his hand.

"You know.. what he's saying is true" he said. Silence on your part as you let him continue.

"If they find out it's going to be so messy, I will get in so much trouble and if something happens to me, everyone's debut gets affected, it's like a fucking domino. And eventually even if we continue this I will not have time to take care of you and be around you and you'll grow tired of me never being there cause I won't be able to and if someone ever finds out after i debut it's yet again over for my career and I put everyone at risk again. I just don't"

You stopped him, silencing the cacophony of stress with a gentle touch. Your fingertips, like whisper promises touched his face softly, and with bravery born of longing leaned in, interrupting his thoughts and anxieties with the melody of your lips pressed tenderly against his.

"It's okay" is all you said.

You broke up 2 months later.

In between the next 3 years, you watched him from afar. You got a boyfriend when you turned 19, a nice boy you met at the library where you'd spend most of your days outside of uni. You spent beautiful moments with him, you gave your v card to that boy that summer, and he was a great destruction from Hyunjin. But that's all he was, and when you realized that you felt like such an awful person. You broke up with him later that year, as Hyunjin continued to never leave your mind. But how could he? His band became a huge success. He was everywhere. On billboards around town, on the radio, all over social media. You could not escape him even if you wanted to. But you didn't mind. Seeing him thrive, even without you, brought you an absurd amount of happiness and peacefulness, knowing that he'd doing well, living his dream.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dressed as an employee with the card he specifically made secretly for you so you can easily sneak in, you slipped into the bustling company. You heart racing, as it always does during this part, pretending to be an employee to pass through doors.

You and Hyunjin found your way to each other a few months ago, when he visited home to see his parents. It was irrational and you weren't thinking, but the second his lips touched yours, as now full grown adults, things could never go back to how they were. He was even prettier now, if that's even possible. His hair was long, black. His lips still beautiful and full and so soft. His body was bigger, and harder than what you remember, probably because of his dancing. He fucked you in his childhood room that night. His hand on your mouth and other times kissing you hard to muffle your moans as his whole family was in the house.

"You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this" he said as he laid you on his bed, getting you under the covers. He let you undress him and explore his body, taking your time with it. He was so hard under his boxers and leaking already, you palmed him through them and kissed him like this would be the last time you'll get to put your lips on his. You left comments about his size and you felt him both twitch and smirk through the kiss.

"When did you get so handsome?" you asked.

"When did you get this fucking hot" he responded.

He opened you up later that night, kissing you down the softly and eating you out hungrily, with so much skill. You wondered how many girls he's done this to, and you asked without thinking. He doesn't respond but he looks up at you while hes down there. He started inserting fingers, one by one, while continuing to play with your clit between his tongue. When you were finally ready for him he came close to your face and kissed your nose.

"I haven't done this in years. Be gentle" you tell him shyly yet in a playful tone.

"Oh so you've done this before?"

"You haven't ?"

You stare at each other for a moment, then smile.

"Now that we're here, I wish I never did, so I could do it with you" you said. And he simply said "These things don't matter to me" before kissing you again.

He let you ride him, so you could take your time and control the movements that were happening, and it's safe to say he loved being at your mercy. Your hands intertwined, sweaty foreheads, soft whimpers. He sounded beautiful. That one boyfriend you had back in the day was a nice guy, but the few times you had sex felt like a joke right now. He was silent, strict with it, forward. Hyunjin was vocal, touchy, loving, considerate. You felt like you were having sex for the first time, cause you were one way or another. At the end of the day what did virginity even mean.

When your hips got tired, he immediately noticed and started moving you up and down on him. He changed positions a few minutes later, now being on top of you. He fixed your hair that was all over your red face and kissed your hands while entering you, much harder this time. You could feel both your orgasms coming. Out of nowhere, he put his hand on your belly, and dragged yours right there a second later.

"Can you feel me. That's me baby. All of me"

Looking deep into his eyes, shocked, ears and cheeks red, you both came, as he started playing with your clit fast and then pulled out and spilled on your belly. He got up immediately after the events and cleaned you up, dressed you up in your pajamas and then got in the bed. You didn't sleep that night, not until 5am at least. You stayed up and talked. You talked about everything. Your lives, what you've been doing, how this insane life he was living is like. You told him about the boy you met that summer, and he told you he has been with someone from his company for a few months after he realized his heart does not belong there and broke things off. You asked him who the girl was, and when he answered he notice how your face dropped.

"What is it?"

"Oh I know her, shes really pretty and talented, no wonder"

"And yet you're the prettiest girl in the world and the one i cant get this stupid mind of mine to let go, all these years"

You talked about what was going to happen, and both agreed that you wanted this, even if it was risky. It was okay, his dating ban was lifted long ago, and you'd be careful, you could do this.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sneaking in the company using your card, you finally end up on the third floor, successfully unnoticed. You always meet him here since this floor is always empty. After a couple minutes pass you hear footsteps and hide behind a trashcan, and the second you realize it's him you jump up on him and hug him. You kiss, trying to be silent, and then he takes you to a tiny room he uses to write and record music.

The space is tiny and he has never brought you here before.

"Oh. This place is tiny we barely fit in here. What do you even do here?" you ask.

"It's my little space, I come here to concentrate and write."

You move your head in understanding and then he suddenly pulls you on his knees, as he's sitting down on the one and only chair that fit this room.

"It's also soundproof"

"Oh." you smirk and kiss him, running your hands through his beautiful hair, ruining his ponytail.

Suddenly, after minutes of purely making out, he positions you directly above his knee, and starts harshly pushing up, going right under your skirt and directly hitting your wet spot.

"So warm down there, you're wet for me already baby?" as you hum in response. He keeps saying dirty, yet loving things in your ear as he's fucking you with his knee, and at some point you take control and start moving yourself. Your hands on his chest, on his shoulders, in his hair, on his neck. He fucking loves all of it, you can see it, you can hear it. After reaching a crazy orgasm, you get off of him and immediately unbuckle his belt.

"Oh love you don't have to that's fine, let it be about you only this time"

"God you have no idea how much i want you do you?" you responded and gave him singlehandedly the best head of his life. After he came down from the high of his orgasm he pulled you up and kissed you hard, yet with so much tenderness.

Being with him was definitely a challenge. Everything had to be done in secret. Behind malls and bars and late at night where only the moon and the stars could see your faces. But you wouldn't change it, not for the world, he was your own little world.

[d-z20]

The Ballad of Agatha Harkness Chapter 12

Summary: Agatha "I actually did bite a kid once" Harkness and Rio Vidal are falling in love

Warnings: pure fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: I had to find a way to include backstory on Agatha biting a kid somehow and it ended up being this 😶

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Twisted Bonding

The weeks turned into months, the chill of early spring giving way to the sticky warmth of summer, and still, the thread between Agatha and Rio tightened. They fell into a rhythm, an odd, uneven dance marked by sharp banter and a strange, unspoken affection. The more time they spent together, the more they pushed each other—each jest was a knife with a jewelled handle, each compliment wrapped in velvet and thorn. Rio fed into Agatha’s confidence with dark, almost cruel praise, the kind that made Agatha’s heart flutter even as she bristled.

“Look at you,” Rio would say, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight of Agatha’s cottage. “So powerful. So perfect. If only the rest of the world knew the monster behind the pretty face.”

Agatha would scoff, but her smile betrayed her. “And if only the world knew what lurks behind your own mask,” she’d counter, voice sweet as honey but sharp as broken glass.

There were moments, though, when the bickering would fade into something quieter, something softer. Agatha would find herself watching Rio in the early morning light; the witch’s profile softened as she swirled gentle green magic conjuring up flowers in the palm of her hand, her gaze distant, almost lost. And Rio, ever the prowler, would catch her staring and smirk, shattering the fragile tenderness between them. It was a push-and-pull neither of them named, but both of them felt. They were falling in love, though neither would admit it—perhaps because to admit it would be to surrender, and they were both far too proud for that.

Still, Rio’s disappearances persisted. A night here, a day there—Agatha had grown accustomed to it, expecting her to vanish like smoke, only to reappear with a smug grin and some cryptic explanation. But this time, she had been gone a week. Agatha’s annoyance simmered, a bitter tang in the back of her throat as she wandered, pretending she wasn’t looking for a shadow she’d grown used to having by her side.

—

The sun shone brightly over a small village, casting a warm, golden light across the bustling green. Children’s laughter filled the air as they played games, while nearby, vendors called out to sell their fresh apples and baked goods. Agatha Harkness sat alone on a wooden bench, enjoying the rare quiet of the afternoon. She was dressed simply, blending in with the townsfolk, though there was a subtle, unusual energy about her that hinted she didn’t quite belong. A thick book rested in her lap, and she flipped a page with a small, contented sigh.

The peace was interrupted by the arrival of a shadow. Agatha glanced up from her reading to find a young boy standing before her. He couldn’t have been more than seven, with a wild mop of brown hair and dirt smudged across his freckled cheeks. He stood with his hands on his hips, grinning up at her with the kind of confidence only a mischievous child could muster.

“Hey, lady!” the boy called out, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Play with me!”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “Shouldn’t you be off playing with the other children?” She asked, her voice light but laced with the hint of a warning.

The boy—Henry, she’d heard one of the mothers call him earlier—shook his head vigorously. “They’re boring,” he declared, folding his arms across his chest. “You look like you could be fun.”

Agatha smirked, her attention already drifting back to her book. “Do I now?” she murmured, clearly uninterested in whatever game he had in mind.

Henry, undeterred, edged closer, trying to peer at the pages of her book. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “What’s that? A boring old book? WHY WON’T YOU PLAY WITH ME?!” He shouted.

She let out a quiet, exasperated sigh and shut the book with a decisive snap. “Trust me, dear,” she said, looking him in the eye, “it’s anything but boring.”

Henry’s grin widened, sensing a challenge. He poked her shoulder with a grubby little finger. “Come on, play with me!” he insisted, his tone turning whiny.

Agatha’s patience was starting to thin. “You really shouldn’t poke strangers,” she replied, her voice sweet but with a sharp edge beneath it.

But before she could wave him off, Henry lunged forward and, without warning, clamped his teeth down on her arm. It wasn’t a playful nip; it was the kind of bite a feral child might give when they didn’t get their way. Agatha gasped, jerking her arm back in surprise. She stared down at the red mark blooming on her pale skin, then looked up at Henry, who was beaming as though he’d just won a prize.

“Ha!” he crowed. “Got you!”

Agatha blinked, momentarily stunned. Then her lips curled into a smile—a smile that made Henry’s own grin falter slightly. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, I see how it is,” she said softly. “You like biting, do you?”

Henry, still oblivious, laughed. “Yeah! You’re no fun anyway. You just sit there like an old lady.”

With a quick, deliberate movement, Agatha darted forward and bit his arm in return. It wasn’t hard enough to truly hurt him, but it was a firm, pointed nip. Henry yelped and stumbled back, clutching his arm as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Ow!” he shouted, his eyes wide with shock. “You bit me!”

Agatha sat back, looking completely unruffled as she brushed off her skirts. “Well,” she said calmly, “you bit me first.”

Tears welled up in Henry’s eyes, more from the shock than the pain. He looked around frantically, as if searching for someone to take his side.

Just then, a woman hurried over, her apron fluttering as she scolded, “Henry Caldwell, just what is all this fuss about?”

Henry ran to his mother, brandishing his bitten arm as though it were a battle wound. “She bit me!” He wailed.

Mrs. Caldwell barely glanced at his arm before turning her tired, exasperated gaze to Agatha. “Did you see what happened?” she asked with the resignation of someone who had heard it all before.

Agatha gave a sweet, innocent smile. “Oh, he just came over here and bit down on his own arm,” she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “I was simply minding my own business when I heard him cry. I was so worried.”

Mrs. Caldwell let out a long sigh and patted Henry’s head with a distracted hand. “This is not how you get attention, young man. Come along now, and leave the poor woman alone.”

Henry opened his mouth to protest but sulked as his mother dragged him away, shooting Agatha a look of mixed fury and confusion. Agatha watched them go, amusement dancing in her eyes. She flipped her book back open, humming a light tune to herself as though nothing at all had happened.

As they walked away, a low, familiar voice spoke from behind Agatha, rich with amusement. “Biting children now, Agatha? It seems I’ve missed quite the show.”

Agatha didn’t turn, but the corners of her lips twitched upward. “You would disappear for a week, only to show up just as I’m disciplining the local pests.”

Rio slid onto the bench beside her, far too close, her body a teasing line of heat against Agatha’s side. “Admit it, you had fun.”

Agatha finally looked at her, arching a brow. “Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”

Rio smirked, her eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. “No? What would you call it, then?”

Agatha gave a slow, thoughtful smile. “A necessary lesson.”

Rio chuckled, brushing a stray curl behind Agatha’s ear. “You are absolutely wicked.”

—

Back at Agatha’s cottage, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension, an electric current that had built over months of shared moments. Agatha leaned against the counter, watching Rio as she moved about the room like she owned it.

“You’re still such a mystery,” Agatha said, her tone playful but edged with something deeper. “You’ve probably watched empires crumble, haven’t you? And yet here you are, obsessed with me.”

Rio stepped closer, her grin sharp. “And you love it. You love that I see you—all of you. That I want the real, dark you.”

Their lips met in a heated kiss, fierce and unyielding. It was a battle neither of them wanted to lose, but neither truly wanted the other to surrender either. They broke apart, breathless, their eyes locked in a silent, searing exchange. In that moment, neither dared to speak; it felt like the world might shatter if either of them broke the fragile stillness. Instead, Rio rested her forehead against Agatha’s, her fingers tracing slow, idle circles on the witch’s waist. The tension in the room softened into something gentler, a rare and precious thing neither of them could name.

“Come on,” Rio murmured after a beat, her voice low and coaxing. “I want to show you something.”

Agatha frowned, still catching her breath. “Now? Where could you possibly want to go?”

Rio gave her a playful nudge. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Agatha huffed, rolling her eyes but following her out the door. They walked together into the darkening woods, the air crisp and filled with the sweet scent of pine. It was almost dusk, the sun casting long, golden rays through the trees, painting the leaves in a wash of amber and green. Rio held out her hand, and after a brief hesitation, Agatha took it, lacing her fingers through Rio’s. They walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves beneath their boots and the occasional call of a distant bird.

When they reached a small clearing, Agatha realised where Rio had led her. A tiny stream ran through the space, its water glittering like a ribbon of silver in the waning light. Rio sank down onto a mossy patch by the bank, tugging Agatha down beside her.

“You brought me to a stream?” Agatha said dryly, though the faint smile on her lips showed her happiness.

Rio shrugged, leaning back on her elbows and stretching out like a cat basking in the sun. “I figured you could use a moment of peace. You’re always so... tightly wound.”

Agatha settled beside her, drawing her knees up to her chest. She looked at Rio, her expression softening. “And here I thought you enjoyed winding me up.”

“Oh, I do,” Rio said with a grin. “But I also like this.” She reached out, brushing a lock of Agatha’s hair back from her face, her fingers lingering against her cheek.

Agatha’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savouring the touch. When she opened them again, she found Rio watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher—somewhere between affection and wonder. It was almost disarming, the way Rio looked at her, as though she were something precious.

They stayed like that for a long while, simply sitting by the stream, the sound of the water filling the spaces where words might have gone. Agatha leaned into Rio’s side, resting her head against her shoulder, and for once, she let herself relax fully. It felt like surrender, but not in the way she’d feared. It felt like safety.

Eventually, Rio’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer. “You know,” she said softly, “if anyone saw us like this, they’d never believe it.”

Agatha chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated through both of them. “Let them think what they want,” she said, tilting her head up to press a kiss to Rio’s jaw. “This is ours.”

They stayed out until the stars began to peek through the canopy of trees, tiny pinpricks of light in the vast indigo sky. Neither of them wanted to break the spell, to pull away from the bubble of warmth and quiet they’d created together. Rio ran her fingers through Agatha’s hair, her touch slow and soothing, as if she were memorising the texture.

“You’ve gotten soft,” Agatha teased, her words barely a murmur against the hollow of Rio’s throat.

Rio laughed quietly. “Only for you,” she admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of Agatha’s head.

When they finally made their way back to the cottage, it was hand in hand—the kind of unspoken bond that needed no words. Agatha lit the hearth with a flick of her wrist, and Rio moved there, hanging the kettle over the open flames with a practiced hand, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. It struck Agatha then how easily Rio had slipped into her life, filling up the empty spaces she hadn’t realised were there.

They curled up together on the old divan by the fire, sharing a simple cup of hot, spiced wine as the flames danced and crackled in the dim room. Agatha leaned against Rio’s side, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. She didn’t say it, but she realised she’d grown used to this—to having Rio here, to the warmth of her presence. It was more than just comfort; it was a quiet reliance she hadn’t let herself feel in a long, long time.

Rio broke the silence, her voice softer than usual. “I’m not going anywhere, you know.”

Agatha glanced up, surprised by the earnestness in her tone. “Oh?”

Rio nodded, her gaze steady, unflinching. “I mean it. I know I disappear sometimes, but... I’ll always come back. To you. And if I can’t find you, I’ll never stop looking.”

For a moment, Agatha felt the old walls inside her threaten to rise up, to dismiss the sentiment with a quip or a roll of her eyes. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she reached up, cupping Rio’s face in her hand, her thumb brushing across her cheekbone.

“Good,” Agatha said simply, her voice thick with something that felt a lot like relief. “Because I’d make it hell for you if you didn’t.”

Rio’s lips curled into a slow, genuine smile. “You already do.”

They laughed together, the sound soft and shared, echoing through the small cottage. And as the night wore on and the fire burned low, Agatha fell asleep in Rio’s arms, tangled together in a way that felt right.

Next Chapter >

[veevz-drawz]

DoaHD | Entry 3: I Learned About My Grandma From Her Former Drinking Buddy

A/N: okay so i lied again about uploading biweekly LMAO, i think with how things are going its probably going to be monthly updates, mainly because it takes me a long ass time to do the illustrations;; (I literally spent 2 days trying to nail strawberry butler's design T-T)

Taglist: @minecraftninjerkid (DM if you would like to be added!)

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“Let’s see…” Strawberry Mousse Cookie muttered, reading over the packing list once more. “Clothes, sewing machine, sewing materials…” She walked across the hallway of suitcases lined up in the foyer, tapping each fruit leather-bound case that contained their respective items. “Oh! Don’t forget that bottle of premium grade strawberry juice for Her Majesty!” She pointed towards the grenadine juice bottle that was sitting on a nearby table.

“I got all of that,” Strawberry Tea Cookie confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Her mother fretted. “Why don’t we double check.” She unlocked one of the bigger cases, rummaging through the neatly packed contents while cross-referencing her list.

“You already quadruple checked everything,” Strawberry Tea Cookie reassured, shooing her away from the suitcase and shutting it before signaling for the servants to carry them out. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

“I know, I know,” Strawberry Mousse Cookie sighed, “But you know me…” She walked up to Strawberry Tea Cookie, cupping her cheeks. “I can’t help but always worry about my little berry blossom.”

“There’s nothing you need to be concerned about,” the designer removed her mother’s hands, holding them in her own. “I’ve traveled further before.”

“It’s not that…” Strawberry Mousse Cookie paused, contemplating her words for a moment before shaking her head. “Nevermind.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie pulled her lips taut across her face, concealing the urge to demand her mother to speak her mind. The words swelled from the back of her throat, trying to pry her mouth open so they could be set free. But she restrained herself— arguing will only further damage her standing.

It’s not like she didn’t know what her mother was about to say, anyways.

“Lady Strawberry Tea Cookie, the carriage is almost ready for your departure,” Strawberry Butler Cookie announced, bowing before stepping to the side of the manor’s grand doors.

Strawberry Tea Cookie grabbed the bottle of strawberry juice and made her way to the forecourt with her mother. Her father was outside as well, overseeing the servants securing her mountain of suitcases to the proportionally— and comically— small carriage.

“Ohh, I’m going to miss you so much!” Strawberry Mousse Cookie cried, tightly wrapping her arms around Strawberry Tea Cookie. “The estate is always so empty when you’re not around…”

“But I rarely leave my room,” Strawberry Tea Cookie chuckled in disbelief. “I doubt you notice I’m even here when I’m home.”

Not to mention how Peach Jam Cookie and Strawberry Sugar Cookie seemed to make it their mission to constantly occupy her mother’s attention when possible.

“But I know you’re home,” Strawberry Mousse Cookie clarified sadly. “I know you’re safe within Strawberry Mansion.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie didn’t comment further, opting to give a small— albeit forced— smile.

“Your mother is correct,” Roasted Oolong Cookie placed a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, obscuring his face from Strawberry Tea Cookie’s gaze. “We’ll miss you.”

The designer silently wrapped her arms around her parents, pulling them closer. She felt a sense of reluctance rise within her stomach, bubbling up like the concoction of activated yeast Strawberry Butler Cookie used when baking bread. It slowly seeped into the threads of excitement that came from leaving Strawberry Manor and this kingdom— staining them pink with forlorn. “I’ll miss you both too…”

Yet Strawberry Tea Cookie wasn’t all too sure if what she was feeling was truly the hesitation of parting with her parents, or rather the thought of leaving them alone with her relatives for two months. While she doesn’t often contribute to their social gatherings, she would at least like to be present in the household to keep tabs on those peachy parasites.

She reluctantly let go of her parents upon hearing Strawberry Butler Cookie call her name, slowly walking towards the carriage with her parents trailing behind.

“I shall be back before you know it,” Strawberry Tea Cookie assured, facing them as she took a preliminary step into her ride. Yet before she could fully enter, she felt a warm hand grasping her own.

“Berry bloss—“ Strawberry Mousse Cookie cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “Strawberry Tea Cookie, please know that we still love you very much.”

—That was not what she was expecting.

The former heiress turned back to see the raw remorse painted on her mother’s face, her eyes that usually displayed nothing but kindness and unyielding patience now glossed over with absolute grief. The tears threatening to spill over made her pupils shine a vivid burgundy under the sun’s zenith, a stark contrast to the way Strawberry Tea Cookie felt all her color drain into the vivacious blue sky the more she internalized her mother’s expression.

“I… know.” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed, battling with her own conflicting feelings. Perhaps she will miss her parents more than she thought— even after everything that has transpired. She broke eye contact, glancing away only to meet the triumphant carmine gaze of Strawberry Sugar Cookie, now standing by the mansion’s doors.

The new heir smirked when he realized her attention was on him, sticking his tongue out while pulling his frosted lower lash downwards— an immature display of victory. If it weren’t for the circumstances and their literal distance, she would’ve stitched his face shut with her magic like she did a while back.

But she digressed.

“I love you too.” The designer continued, turning her focus back on her parents. Strawberry Mousse Cookie let go of her hand and backed away with her husband, allowing Strawberry Tea Cookie to fully climb into the carriage and shut the door. She glanced out the window, giving them a small wave goodbye as her ride began to move.

And I’ll make sure to show how much I love you and House Strawberry.

.

.

.

Strawberry Tea Cookie was in immediate awe of the sight before her, stepping out of the carriage to face the airship towering over Hollyberry Palace.

It reminded her of those grandiose blimps broadcasting Super Fashion Week when she attended all those years back, except this one was miniature compared to the former’s size. The elliptical balloon, which had a large blue banner donning the Crème Republic’s insignia draped over it, was perched on a wide bronze ring that held up a brig ship comparable to its size. The boat was equipped with a large propeller located at its stern. Two fan-like sails flanked the rudder, obscuring the circular engine exhausts that radiated a hypnotizing blue light. It was a perfect combination of modernity and antiquity– all gilded in a sleek coat of white and gold.

Cookies wearing cream colored uniforms hurried to unload the designer’s luggage onto some nearby carts. Strawberry Butler Cookie took charge in instructing the ship’s staff on how it should be organized, pointing to where each suitcase should be placed as they were lifted— much to the handlers’ annoyance.

“Ah, I’m so glad you could join us, Young Strawberry Tea Cookie!” Hollyberry Cookie beamed, her words nearly drowned out by the engine’s incessant humming.

“Thank you once again for permitting me to join you on this trip, your Majesty.” Strawberry Tea Cookie said as she turned around, meeting Hollyberry Cookie with a bow before presenting her with the bottle of strawberry juice. “My family has prepared this for you as a show of gratitude.”

“Oh there’s no need to be so formal with me,” the former queen laughed. “But I will be taking this, thank you very much.” She swipes the bottle from Strawberry Tea Cookie’s hands, immediately popping the cork open and taking a swig of the sweet liquid.

Ah, so the rumors hold true. That bottle had twice the amount of sugar that normal strawberry juice has…

“Now c’mon, we must make haste!” She beckoned, a foot already on the boarding ramp. “The ship will be departing soon!”

Strawberry Tea Cookie turned back to check on her butler, who was now arguing with the staff about a fallen case. Thankfully there was nothing too important in that one, just some muslin and thread. Strawberry Butler Cookie’s exasperated eyes met her concerned ones, but he only let out a huff and beckoned her to board the ship with a hurried shoo-ing motion, too occupied with fixing this mess.

.

.

.

The cabinet inside was simple yet elegant, perfectly matching the exterior’s aesthetic motif. A U-shaped couch occupied the perimeter of the space, upholstered with smooth fruit leather that was bleached to a creamy caramel. Silk cushions topped the couch like a dollop of cream on some freshly baked scones, reflective of the ones plated on top of the small, hardwood coffee table situated in the center. Next to the plate of complimentary pastries was a simple ceramic teapot with four cups surrounding it, one of which was already turned upright and filled with a familiar red liquid.

“Did you really have to bring Her Majesty more juice,” Wildberry Cookie questioned as Strawberry Tea Cookie took her seat beside him.

“I did say I would gift her the finest juice my house could offer,” she replied with a shrug, flipping over the remaining cups and pouring out some tea. A dry, aromatic scent filled the designer’s nostrils, with subtle hints of bergamot tingling her senses—earl gray— not her favorite, but she enjoyed it more than the popular fruit teas within the Hollyberry Kingdom.

“Oh don’t be such a sour berry, let me enjoy a gift from my good friend’s granddaughter.” Hollyberry Cookie huffed, taking another sip seemingly out of spite. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, raising the bottle up in the air. “This must be your grandmother’s recipe, am I correct?”

The designer nods. “My mother told me you were quite fond of her juice recipe, so I took that into consideration when picking a bottle from our collection.” She reached over to point at the wax seal melted to the sugar glass. The seal held the shape of two ovalish berries coming together in the shape of a heart, bordered by sharp leaves. “She personally made this bottle.”

“Well I’m honored to receive such a fine gift~.” Hollyberry Cookie smiled, she settled the bottle on the table and re-corked it. “Of all the delectable juices offered in the Hollyberry Kingdom, none can truly beat the flavor of Ol’ Goji Berry Cookie’s recipe.”

The door suddenly slams open and an irritated looking Strawberry Butler Cookie stomps in. “Almighty Greenish-Red Dragon, is it so hard to put away a few luggages?” He slumped next to Strawberry Tea Cookie, running a hand through his creamy pink hair before looping downwards to massage his sore shoulder. “I swear the crew purposely did the exact opposite of what I told them to do!”

The designer gave him a sympathetic look, nudging a cup of tea towards him. “Regardless, you have my gratitude for overseeing them.”

“You have very important things in there,” Strawberry Butler Cookie replied before nudging her playfully. “I still remember the fit you threw when Lord Strawberry Sugar Cookie got paint on your dress.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie scoffed and rolled her eyes in the same lighthearted manner as her butler. “Well he shouldn’t have entered my studio without permission in the first place.”

But perhaps stringing him to the wall was too far…

Pierce the fabric, loop the—

The fashion student flinched as her studio door swung open, her mind momentarily going blank as her focus was drawn away from the thread she was attempting to control.

“Cousin, are you in here?” A shrill voice called out.

Strawberry Tea Cookie let out an audible huff of frustration before turning to glare at whoever dared to interrupt her magic practice.

There stood Strawberry Sugar Cookie—of course—in all his wide-eyed glory. Blotches of paint covered his sunrise orange hair, matting the usually wispy, cotton candy-esque consistency. The paint brush that was usually weaved into the back of his head was now tucked to the side, smearing colored frosting onto his forehead– if he even noticed. His clothes, which were far from a simple painter’s attire, were also caked with multicolored pigments.

Disheveled, disorganized, and disruptive—as expected from the son of a rotten peach.

“This better be important,” Strawberry Tea Cookie sighed. It took her nearly an hour to gain enough control of that thread, let alone begin maneuvering it like she would sewing by hand.

“I-I just want to see what you are doing…” Strawberry Sugar Cookie briefly glanced back into the hallway before facing her. “Can I come in?”

“No.” The heiress immediately answered. Yet he didn’t heed her refusal, stepping into her sacred space without a care in the world.

“C’mon, just for a little bit..?” He pleaded. “Mother…”

Strawberry Tea Cookie ignored the rest of her cousin’s words, only focusing on the way he carelessly brushed against her mannequins to get closer. Luckily the paint on his clothes seemed to be dry, as the muslin sample pieces remained pristinely clean— good, those were due in a few days.

Yet fate wanted to punish the novice designer for even conceptualizing such a thought, it seemed, because a split moment later Strawberry Sugar Cookie let out a sharp yelp before toppling over.

An explosion of paint littered the lacquer floor and its surroundings. Strawberry Tea Cookie didn’t pay attention to her cousin getting up as if he had been revived from a brutal stabbing, instead scanning the room for the damage he caused. Thankfully, only the base of her mannequins were hit, but the same couldn’t be said about her dress. She watched silently as the paint’s inky pigment seeped through each delicately woven thread, much like her growing anger.

Condensed energy flowed throughout Strawberry Tea Cookie’s jam, concentrating at her hands like dense ink settling to the bottom of a water cup. Without even registering it, her cousin was suddenly flung to the wall, the motion splattering more paint across her studio.

Rubine threads held him to the ornate silken wallpaper, his clothes seemingly fused with the wall through the border of hot red.

“What did I say about not coming in!?” The heiress hissed, tightening her fist, which pulled a fear stricken Strawberry Sugar Cookie tighter against the wall. “Mother gave me this dress and you just ruined it!”

Ah. That was quite cruel, wasn’t it.

“Hey, we all had a good laugh in the end,” Strawberry Butler Cookie chuckled, sensing Strawberry Tea Cookie’s shifting emotions. “Plus, you finally gained control of your stitchwork magic.”

“I…” Strawberry Tea Cookie withdrew a breath, thinking back to her cousin’s terrified expression. “Suppose so…”

Yes, that was beyond too far.

The ship began to rumble. The designer glanced out the window, her stomach dropping as they ascended, watching as Hollyberry Palace got smaller and smaller. The grandiose, sugar-glazed domes became nothing but small specks of bright maroon—it was hard to imagine that the same structure defended against attacks from the Pitaya Dragon up north.

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt this strange sense of pressure overcome her as her home disappeared into the endless sea of clouds, one that not even the rising altitude could alleviate. Traveling had always been a source of leisure for her, gaining inspiration was just a natural byproduct of her exploring a new area. 

But this time… She had to find inspiration.

Perhaps her aunt was—unfortunately—right. Hollyberry Fashion Week had become a competition.

.

.

.

“Say, Strawberry Tea Cookie, do you know how I met your grandmother?” Hollyberry Cookie asked out of the blue—or orange, considering that the sun was about to set.

The designer glanced up from her cookie-quis sketches and shook her head. Her memories of her grandmother were like wisps of delicate candy floss, dancing through her consciousness in the vague shape of a cookie. Sometimes, she could weave those bits of sugary thread into a condensed recollection, but they quickly dissolved as if a single drop of water tore through the very fabric of her mind. If she was told about how they met, she had long since forgotten.

“Well let’s just say I never met a cookie who could take as much juice as me until I met good Ol’ Goji Berry Cookie~.” She laughed, sighing fondly as she leaned into the couch cushions.

During a palace gala, Hollyberry Cookie was minding her own business when a young cookie, short in stature and with a head full of flame red curls, marched up and challenged her to a drinking contest.

Yet never once did it actually feel like a competition. They talked for hours on end by that little juice table, paying no mind as guests left and the palace staff began cleaning around them. Their conversations flowed from glass to glass, each pour of finely aged juice reaching deeper into each other’s dreams and aspirations.

“If there was one word to describe your grandmother, it was ambitious.” Hollyberry Cookie cackled. She lifted her iconic pie-lattice shield onto the table, causing a loud impact that trembled the delicate dishware. The heart-shaped gemstone emanated a brilliant pink aura, reflecting specks of rainbow light through the endless layers of condensed sugar crystals. “I lost count of the times I told her she deserved this shield more than me~.”

That night, Hollyberry Cookie learned that Goji Berry Cookie came from the Isle of Tea, coming to the Hollyberry Kingdom in hopes of building a better life for her family. While she was a very business-savvy cookie, her true passion lies in the arts. Whatever spare coin she received from trading goods were all poured into the works of her favorite Hollyberrian artists. As her worth grew, so did the guild of creators she supported, to the point where Goji Berry Cookie’s name became more synonymous with art than with business—but Strawberry Tea Cookie already knew all that.

“It was… a shame that she passed when you were so young,” Hollyberry Cookie sighed, taking a sip of juice from her cup. “She always talked so fondly of you.”

Strawberry Tea Cookie felt her heart stall momentarily. This she didn’t know. “She did..?”

“You bet my soul jam she did~,” the shield-bearer confirmed, her tone both happy and solemn—bittersweet. “She told me your drawings had this… rare liveliness to them.”

Rare liveliness..? She wouldn’t describe her old scribbles like that.

“Haha, oh! And she said the moment you drew your first line, she knew you would grow up to be a master artist.” Hollyberry Cookie recalled joyously. “And look at you now, she would have been so proud of you!”

Look at me now…

Strawberry Tea Cookie doubts her grandmother would have been proud of who she became. Sure, a master at her craft, but so selfish that she handed over the family name—destroying everything her grandmother had sacrificed to build. However, that didn’t stop a bittersweet smile of her own from lifting up to her lips, glad that her grandmother saw so much potential in her.

Truly a shame that she squandered it all.

“You have the same eyes as her, you know,” Her Majesty continued. “And even the exact same fiery spark as well,” she flashed her a brilliant smile, one filled with pride as if looking at her own granddaughter. It was infectious, and Strawberry Tea Cookie could feel the bitterness melting from her smile until nothing but confectionate sweetness remained. “Never lose it.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.” Strawberry Tea Cookie nodded, not knowing what else to say, but she kept her doubts sealed away. That spark had long since burned out, extinguished into nothing but ashen exhaustion that she projects onto other cookies—nothing like her grandmother’s time-told generosity.

She glanced down at her sketches, which were more consistent with aimless scribbles than actual cohesive figures. Cookie models were marred with urgent marks, illegible notes pointing out design flaws, or just scratches of frustration. She couldn’t help but feel more exhausted just looking at the mess.

Yet Hollyberry Cookie’s words instilled a new sense of determination within the young designer, and she found the energy to turn to a new page. Placing her pencil to the paper, she began outlining the shape of a new cookie.

There’s about another six hours to this trip, that’s plenty of time to come up with something fresh.

[pikapeppa]

Rolan/Tav romance: Someone Great

In sum: a friends-to-lovers Rolan/f!Tav fic from Rolan's POV, with eventual rated E smut and mild angst with a happy ending.

Current word count: 36k words across 4 chapters, likely 7 in total.

First chapter (prologue) is below; you can find the rest here on AO3. ❤

************

For as long as Rolan could remember, what he wanted most in the world was to be a great wizard.

It started when he was eight, with a dusty and faded book he found under a bed while his mother was cleaning someone’s house. He brought the book home with them that day; it didn’t look like anyone wanted it, and Rolan had never heard of ‘transmutation’ before, and it sounded neat. His mother threw the fit of all fits when she realized that he’d stolen from a client, but she allowed him to keep the book — it wasn’t like she could return it without looking like a bloody thief, she complained — and as Rolan painstakingly worked his way through the tome, he realized what he wanted to be when he grew up: he wanted to be a wizard. Not just any wizard, but a wizard great enough to perform every single spell in this book. He wanted to be able to pull on the Weave with the ease of tugging a loose thread on the cuff of a shirt. He wanted to be able to do amazing feats of magic, amazing enough that Mother wouldn’t be so mad at him anymore.

So he started learning. He read that book cover to cover until he had most of it memorized. He practiced from it faithfully, working his way from the easy spells to the trickier ones. And on the day when he succeeded at turning a jug of water into wine, the smile on his mother’s face made it clear that this was his destiny. He was meant to be a great wizard, a wizard whose feats of magic made him useful and impressive, and from that moment on, he knew that a great wizard was exactly what he was meant to be.

Then Mother disappeared.

Rolan never did find out what happened to her, exactly. Ran away because she got sick of him, the kids at school would say, but he overheard a couple of the teachers whispering a rumour that her body was found in the alley next to a pub in the Dock District. Either way, Mother was gone, Mister Matheson who owned the house said Rolan couldn’t live there anymore, and all he had was that book. That book of magic, the book that he believed would lead him to greatness: it became the only thing standing between him and starvation.

Instead of practicing the more complicated spells after school, he used the simpler ones to put on street-shows for coin, and he used the coin he got to fill his belly as best as he could. As he sat on the curb eating runny vegetable soup and scraps of bread, he would remind himself that one day, when he was grown, he would be great. He would learn every spell in his book of transmutation, and he would find the best archmage in the city and become their apprentice. And then, with a real teacher to look after him and a whole entire library at his disposal, he would become the great wizard he was meant to be — great enough to prove to this whole city that he was more than just a show-offy street rat with a few cute tricks up his sleeve.

Then he met Cal and Lia.

He was ten when it happened. They were new to Elturel, and they loved his magic show. Little Cal gasped with delight and clapped at his every trick, and Lia beamed at him and called for an encore when his show was done. At the end of the show, they gave him enough coin that he was able to buy some stew with actual meat in it, and when he curled up in an alley with his threadbare blanket that night, his stomach wasn’t cramping with hunger for once.

The next day, Cal and Lia came back to see his show again, and they brought their mother Lana with them. Lana gave him so much coin that he was able to treat himself to a roast chicken dinner that night, complete with mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables and a loaf of fresh-baked bread: a meal so rich that he threw up half of it within ten minutes of scarfing it down.

The day after that, they came to see his show again, and Lana asked if he wanted to join them for dinner at their house that night. Despite his nagging feeling of too-good-to-be-true, he cautiously agreed. The shepherd’s pie Lana made was the best food he had ever eaten in his life, and the grown-up’s sweater they lent him was the coziest thing he’d ever worn. And right there, at the dinner table, with a full belly and Cal and Lia chattering beside him, Rolan fell asleep.

The visits went on like this for some time: daily visits from Lana and Lia and Cal followed by dinners at their home, which became the shining moments of his days. Then, after a few weeks, something wonderful happened: Lana invited him to come home with them and stay.

For the first time in over a year, Rolan had a home — a new home and a family, a mum and a brother and sister. And he knew why he’d been gifted with these things: it was because he had the makings of a great wizard. He was talented and bright, smart enough to manipulate the Weave with only the guidance of his treasured book of transmutation, and that was why they’d taken him in. That was why Cal and Lia liked him, and that was why Lana — Mum — had invited him to stay. They could see that he was going to be great, and there was no way he was going to disappoint them by being anything less. He would be a great wizard someday, as great as Elminster himself, and he would prove to them that they hadn’t made a mistake by bringing him home and calling him ‘big brother’ and ‘son’.

So he kept learning magic. He studied on his own after school, buying more books of magic over the years and memorizing them and mastering their techniques. He researched the most famous archmages alive and decided that Lorroakan would be the ideal fit for a mentor, and he wrote Lorroakan several careful letters listing his achievements and requesting the chance to become an apprentice. He practiced his spellcasting in his spare time, abjuring and evoking and enchanting in private and showing off the flashier spells for Cal and Lia and Mum. And when Cal gasped in delight and clapped, when Lia smiled and asked for an encore, when Mum hugged him and kissed his forehead and told him she was proud, he knew he was on the right track. He was talented and special, well on his way to becoming the great wizard that his family expected him to be, and nothing was going to get in the way of his goals.

Then Mum died.

He was eighteen when it happened. Within a week of her passing, their landlord, Madame Giselle, threatened to evict them if they couldn’t make the rent, and Rolan refused to let that happen. Cal was only twelve, a mere two years older than Rolan when he’d lost his mother, and Rolan refused to see him sleeping on the street like he’d once done. Lia was fourteen, just barely old enough to leave school and start working, but Rolan refused to let her give up her education at such a young age. And so, with no small amount of bitterness, he left his last year of school and put his magical studies aside, and he found a job instead.

He went to work at a tailor’s shop, offering his magical talents for the petty purposes of sewing perfect straight seams in a fraction of the time. As he sewed seams and ironed pleats and cut lengths of fabric into the shapes of fabulous robes that he couldn’t afford, he fantasized about how someday, he would be great. He was talented and smart, a self-made wizard who had already mastered the contents of two dozen books on evocation and transmutation and even the trickier discipline of conjuration, and when the great Lorroakan finally recognized his talents, Rolan would have the tutelage and the opportunity to become a great wizard, too. He would become famous for his talents, a wizard of wide renown with such skills that people would pay thousands of gold for his magical solutions to the most esoteric problems. He would use his fortune and power to buy his family a house, a huge incredible house with three big bedrooms and all the best furnishings, and Cal and Lia would never have to worry about going homeless or hungry ever again.

Years went by. Cal and Lia finished school and started working, and Lia told Rolan to stop working and go back to his studies so he would stop moaning about being a great wizard every single day. But Rolan couldn’t just stop working. Costs of living were going up every year, and even with all three of them working, they were just making enough to be comfortable. If Rolan quit his job, they would barely make ends meet, and he refused to see Cal and Lia struggle like he once had. He was responsible for them, for making sure they had the life they would’ve had if Mum was still with them, and he couldn’t just stop working altogether, even though his job was a bloody waste of time that took him away from what really mattered: his magical studies.

After months of arguing with Lia and cajoling from Cal, Rolan finally agreed to taking one day off per week. And with the boon of that spare day, he was able to think again about his great purpose in life. He took up his self-studies once more and made inroads on the tomes he’d been forced to put aside when Mum died. He wrote to Lorroakan again and requested the chance for an apprenticeship. He kept working at the damned tailor’s shop, but for the first time in almost ten years, he had hope — real, tangible hope that he could get back on track to becoming what he was always meant to be: a great wizard who got the recognition he deserved for how talented and brilliant he was, and who could use those talents and brilliance to make sure Cal and Lia had everything they ever wanted.

Finally, when he was twenty-eight, Rolan finally got the chance he’d deserved all this time: Lorroakan wrote him back and offered him an apprenticeship. That night when Cal and Lia got home from work, he told them the incredible news, and over a celebratory meal and a couple bottles of wine, they started making plans to move to Baldur’s Gate within the month.

Then Elturel fell into Avernus, and everything literally went to hell.

Their house was destroyed in the fall, and they lost nearly everything, including Rolan’s treasured library of magic tomes. Their neighbours turned on them, calling them devilspawn and refusing them shelter, and it was all Rolan could do to use arcane shields and mage-armour and invisibility spells to get them out of Elturel alive. They ran into Zevlor, who was leading a bunch of refugees to Baldur’s Gate for a fresh start, and through chance and lack of choice, they ended up travelling with them on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

But things went from bad to worse. News trickled in about some bloody goblin army, and when they ran afoul of a scouting party of goblins, they had to beg for refuge at the Emerald Grove. The archdruid Halsin immediately gave them shelter, but then Halsin went off on some quest or other and didn’t come back, and the druids’ second-in-command Kagha started threatening to throw them out.

Rolan was furious. Just when things were starting to look up for him, just when things were starting to finally look like he could give Cal and Lia the life they deserved, things had to go to shit. He had an apprenticeship to get to, a fucking life that he’d been aiming for since he was eight years old and that he’d been forced to put off time and time again, and he was not going to let a bunch of bloody goblins get in his way of getting to Baldur’s Gate.

But Lia didn’t want to leave the refugees behind. She wanted to stay with them, to risk her life and Cal’s to protect a bunch of strangers that they didn’t even know, and Rolan lost his temper. They got into an argument, the worst they’d ever had — and that was when they met her.

Her name was Tavanah: “call me Tav,” she said. She was a half-elf rogue from Baldur’s Gate with the oddest ragtag group of companions imaginable, and Rolan did not like her.

She was nosy, stepping into his argument with Lia and making him feel like he had no choice but to stay and protect the refugees. She had an annoying calmness about her that made Rolan feel like he was being overly dramatic when he absolutely was not. And most irritatingly of all, she got things done, and she did it quickly. She made that Kagha woman let Arabella go, and she went to the goblin camp and killed the goblin pack’s leaders and got Halsin freed. And for some reason that Rolan just couldn’t put his finger on, Tav’s heroism rubbed him the wrong way. Who in the hells did she think she was, interfering with his family? They were his responsibility, not hers. He’d been protecting them and providing for them since he was eighteen years old, and he’d gotten them safely out of Elturel all on his own with only his magical talents to thank. He didn’t need the interference of some busybody rogue and her weird friends to keep his own bloody family safe and sound, thank you very much.

Then, while travelling through the shadow-cursed lands with Zevlor and the others, they ran afoul of the damned cultists, and Cal and Lia were taken.

It happened faster than he could even fathom. One second, he was throwing a shield over the kids with one hand and flinging magic missiles with the other. The next thing he knew, Lia was screaming his name while she and Cal got dragged away into the dark.

It was the last bloody straw. Rolan was supposed to protect his siblings and kept them safe; what the fuck else did he have all of these talents and power for? What use was he if he wasn’t able to protect this own fucking family? But he’d failed at protecting them, he’d failed, and now they were gone. Cal and Lia were gone, and he was alone — he was alone, all alone, and he deserved this. He’d failed them, he was no use to them, he didn’t deserve a family, and that’s why he was alone. He wasn’t great at all. He wasn’t special or talented or worthy of an apprenticeship with someone like Lorrokoan. He had failed to keep his family safe, the one singular most important thing he was meant to do, and being alone and curled up at the bottom of a bottle was exactly where he deserved to be.

Then Tav showed up at the Last Light Inn.

As soon as he saw her, Rolan realized something: this wasn’t his fault, not really. It was Tav’s. Cal and Lia were gone because of her. If she hadn’t talked them into staying with Zevlor and the others, this wouldn’t have happened. If he and Cal and Lia had left on their own, he wouldn’t have been distracted protecting the kids; he would have put all of his skills and energy into keeping Cal and Lia safe, and they would still be together now. But Tav had interfered, sticking her nose into things and talking him into playing the bloody fucking hero, and because of her, Cal and Lia were gone.

He told her as much — as least, he thought he did, though things were kind of blurry at that point. And then she had the gall to tell him he shouldn’t give up hope, and that she would go to rescue Lia and Cal with her friends.

Rolan was furious. How dare this woman, this stranger, make it seem like he was some coward who didn’t have the stones or the skills to save his siblings on his own? How dare she make it sound like he was giving up? He wasn’t giving up by sitting here drinking. He was just — he… Well, he wasn’t bloody well giving up, not on Cal and Lia, not ever. And to prove her wrong, to prove that he was worth the trust that Mum had put in him all those years ago by taking him in, he went to save Cal and Lia on his own. He was more than able to do this, after all; he was skilled and brilliant, a self-taught prodigy well on his way to becoming great, and he was more than capable of bringing Cal and Lia back all by his bloody self.

But the shadows were too much. He got overwhelmed by them within half an hour of leaving the Last Light Inn, and as the shades and the undead crept in, so too did the terror. Was this really how he was going to go down? Here in the shadows, failed by the only talents he had while Cal and Lia were in trouble somewhere: was this really how it was going to end? He couldn’t let it end this way, he couldn’t. He couldn’t — Cal and Lia, he needed them — no, they needed him, they were probably so fucking scared, and he needed to stay alive for them, for them…

Then Tav showed up with her party in tow, and they saved his life.

Again, Rolan was absolutely furious. Not only were his talents not enough to save himself, but Tav and her friends had witnessed him being… not enough. They had seen him being useless and pathetic and scared, and worst of all, he was forced to admit that he couldn’t save Lia and Cal on his own — an admission that felt worse than chewing cut glass.

At Tav’s calm suggestion, he went back to Last Light with his horns hung low to wait for news of Lia and Cal. And later that very same day, the pair of them came wandering into the inn through the back door.

Their clothes were stained, and their faces and hands were smeared with dirt, but otherwise, they were no worse for wear. And for some reason that Rolan couldn’t even understand, the sight of them both blessedly unharmed made him see red. Here he was, marinating in a horrible miasma of fear and worry and shame, and they both dared to stroll back into the inn looking grimy but unharmed?

He blew up at them. Lia exploded back at him, and Cal tried to calm them down, which just made Rolan even angrier. Then bloody Tav walked through the tavern’s back door with that irritatingly calm look on her face, and she told Cal and Lia how much of a wreck Rolan had been without them both.

For a split second, Rolan was murderously enraged. How dare this woman talk about him to his own siblings as though she knew him? How fucking dare she? But then something truly mad happened: Lia deflated like a balloon and apologized to him.

Lia actually apologized to him — something that she almost never did. And Rolan suddenly felt like he was going to burst into tears. In that moment, he realized something with crystal clarity — something he should have realized ages ago: it didn’t matter how his siblings made it to safety, just that they were safe. Being a great wizard didn’t mean shit-all without the people who made him want to be great, and those people were Lia and Cal. And as irritating as it was to admit it, the person who helped him understand all of this was Tav.

As much as it humbled him to admit, he was… grateful to Tav for the clarity that her help afforded.

Over the next week, as the Elturians waited for the all-clear to move on from Last Light, Rolan spent a lot of time thinking about Tav. She didn’t know him or his family, but she’d gone out of her way time and time again to help them — not just them, but all of the refugees, and the druids and Harpers and gnomes to boot. She’d done all of those good deeds without expecting anything in return, and she’d done them all with that cool-as-a-cucumber demeanour she had. And the more Rolan thought about her, the more he realized something rather annoying. He wasn’t just grateful to Tav; he admired her, too. There, he’d admit it: he found her impressive, almost like a role model of sorts, or like… Ugh, he couldn’t believe he was thinking about her in this way, but as a hero. Silly though it felt to be a grown man thinking of someone this way, Tav reminded him of stories about folk heroes of old, and he found himself thinking about that more and more as he, Cal, Lia, and the refugees finally left the no-longer-shadow-cursed lands behind. Tav was a person whose actions weren’t just great, but… good, too. And this was what Rolan spent a lot of time thinking about as they made their way from Last Light to Baldur’s Gate.

As they drew closer to Baldur’s Gate, though, his excitement started taking over his thoughts. He was so close now, so close to the thing he’d been waiting for his entire life: the chance to finally be what he was meant to be. Here in Baldur’s Gate, with Lorroakan’s skills and guidance, Rolan was finally going to become a great wizard. He was finally going to learn the kinds of advanced magical theory and techniques that he’d never had the time or coin to learn before. He was going to make a name for himself, to prove that he was worth the affection and trust that Mum and Cal and Lia had given him over the years, and everything would finally fall into place.

Then he actually met Lorroakan.

He couldn’t tell Cal and Lia the truth, not after everything they’d been through to get here. So he told them that Lorroakan wouldn’t allow them to stay at the tower, and he found lodgings for them at the Elfsong with Alfira and Lakrissa so they wouldn’t see what Lorroakan was doing to him. He endured the beatings and the insults and being ordered around like a whipped dog, and he told himself that if he just stuck it out and kept his head down, he would finally get his chance. He’d find a way to access the secret cellar where the rare tomes were kept, and he’d learn everything he’d been deprived of for all these damned years. He just had to endure it a little longer; he couldn’t give up. Not now, not after everything he’d done to get this far, not after dragging Cal and Lia all this way. He couldn’t let it all be in vain — he simply couldn’t. He would get his chance at greatness, he just knew he would — as long as he didn’t give up.

Then Tav and her friends showed up at Sorcerous Sundries, because of course they did. And with one look at his face, he could see the truth of his shameful situation reflected in the darkening of her jade-green eyes.

She visited Lorroakan briefly, then came back from the tower looking like thunder and stormed out of the shop. And not long after that, an actual honest-to-gods aasimar showed up.

That was how Rolan found out that Lorroakan’s coveted Nightsong was a person — not an artifact, but a living, breathing person. And Lorroakan’s plan all this time had been to imprison her forever.

There in the Tower of Ramazith, with Lorroakan on one side and Tav on the other, Rolan made his biggest realization yet: he realized who he really wanted to be. He didn’t want to be a great wizard, not if being ‘great’ meant being anything like Lorroakan. What he wanted was to be good, like Tav. He might not be great like her, but he could be good, and that had to start right now.

So he turned on Lorroakan. He fought alongside Dame Aylin and Tav and her friends, and in so doing, he helped to set himself free.

Free. Rolan was free — and he was free in every sense of the word. With Lorroakan dead, with the ownership of Ramazith’s tower and Sorcerous Sundries now in his hands, Rolan was free to have the life he had always wanted. He had a home now — a permanent home, one that really belonged to him and Lia and Cal. He had an entire wizard’s tower full of knowledge to explore. And at long last, after everything that he’d suffered and overcome, he finally had the chance to be… not great, or not just great, but the chance to be… something more. And as Rolan stood there in Ramazith’s tower, watching Tav comforting Dame Aylin while her friends chatted and cleaned off their weapons and armour, he saw the truth: Tav was a perfect example of what ‘something more’ could really be.

For as long as Rolan could remember, what he wanted most in the world was to be a great wizard. But now, he knew there was more to life than that. Life was more than being the best, and it was more than having the world recognize how great you were. Being great didn’t mean anything at all without the people who inspired you to greatness, and the ones who inspired Rolan the most were Cal, Lia — and a certain green-eyed, cool-as-a-cucumber half-elf rogue from Baldur’s Gate.

Read the rest here on AO3.

[bluegreykim]

post-tartarus percabeth headcanons!

i am so abnormal about percabeth rn. tw for post-tartarus trauma exploration, unhealthy attachment. just some of my angsty character exploration. read with caution

after tartarus percy doesn't know what to do with himself, because by necessity his world has been finetuned to annabeth and what her survival means to the world. to him. he goes each day with shaking hands that only still when he is able to hold her, to touch her.

percy doesn't know how to talk to his mom anymore. sally does her best and bakes him endless blue cookies and homecooked warm meals and sits with him in the rain but he can't meet her eyes. how can he? how can he look his mother in the eye when he blames himself for causing so much pain?

percy doesn't care about college. he doesn't care about his life. the monsters are always there, and the paranoia settles into his skin like his organs have forgotten what clean, safe air feels like. he sleeps every night with annabeth shaking in his arms, one hand threaded through her hair and the other clutching riptide like his second lifeline. he almost lost his first, once. and he will never let that happen again.

annabeth knows this is unhealthy. somewhere in her head she knows athena is frowning down on them with disapproval, or maybe she understands. annabeth can't let percy out of her sight. she sees gorgons, fates, giants, titans, evil everywhere, and the shadow of it all clenches around her and all she has is percy. maybe athena understands, or maybe she is scared, too, of what annabeth has become. of what they have made each other.

they would each destroy worlds for the other, kill without a second thought at any mortal, monster, or god who dares step in between them. and they are terrified, but they know nothing else.

[readychilledwine]

For Richer or Poor

Summary - Rhiannon and Rhys struggle with finding each other the perfect solstice gift

Warnings - smut, angst, virginity loss

A/n- this started as angst and fluff and kind of took on a mind of its own.. I apologize for the delay on getting it posted. Miss Sophia has had a mind of her own the past couple days so I've been a little busy forgetting to queue things ❤️ baby daddy's scheduling is now back in place, though.

Peep Requiem for a Dream here

“I don't understand why you are putting so much pressure on one gift,” Azriel stroked Rhiannon's back as she cried. “Rhys loves you, not any materialistic thing you could buy him.” Rhiannon broke down again, back shaking with each heavy sob.

That was the issue. She could not buy him anything. When her father had thrown her to Azriel's feet and abandoned her with her older Brother, he had left her with nothing but the clothing on her bloodied back.

She had no money.

No title.

Nothing she could gift Rhysand for their first Solstice together.

She couldn't even bake him anything nor cook him a dinner. Not unless the two young fae wanted to undergo a Mating Ceremony.

She had little to offer him while he gave her the world. Constsntly showering Her in gifts from Velaris and any court his father would force him to visit.

From teas and treats to lavish clothing, Rhiannon had it all, but she never had the ability to pay it back.

Rhys and his mother walked the Palace of Thread and Jewels. He was carrying the many bags she had accumulated as she shopped for him, Cassian, Azriel, his sister, and now Rhiannon.

Rhys was struggling with gifts for the latter. He had spoiled Rhiannon so much over the past year, and he was lost in what to get the female he'd hand the world.

“What about just something simple? A necklace? A bracelette?” His mother wrapped a Hand around his bicep. “She enjoys blankets. Perhaps a soft new blanket.”

Rhys stared straight ahead. “Nothing says I love you and want to spend the rest of my days with you like a shitty last minute blanket, mother.” He sighed, knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing his father would have his head.

He allowed his mom to pull him into the finest jeweler in the market. “Just do it, Rhysand. We will hide it until we can't anymore.”

Rhys held Rhiannon tight that night. Refusing to let Her go near the small tree his mother was placing presents under. They had been friends for 4 years now, knew they were mates for one year, and had spent that year courting. They had done nothing more but laid in his bed together, kissing and her hands slightly exploring at times while his roamed every inch of her frame like he was making a map.

He had never pushed her into sex, never asked for more than just her love and kisses, but he knew that small box under the tree would change everything. She had wanted to wait for marriage, a tradition drilled into her head through years of beatings from her step mother and Father.

And now, in just 12 short hours, after his Mother, Azriel, and Cassian left for the party being thrown in the Mead Hall, Rhysand would be asking her for her hand.

He placed a few soft kisses along her neck, smiling as she snuggled in closer to him with a small twitch of her lips. Just a few more hours, he told himself.

Solstice morning was filled with laughter and joy. The males having partook in yet another snowball fight as Rhiannon spent the morning in the kitchen helping with what little she could without triggering a mating frenzy.

She, Azriel, and Cassian had exchanged their homemade gifts without the presence of the High Lord's family, the three of them tucked into the boy's room as they exchanged homemade treats. They all couldn't afford much, so these small things had become their tradition. Something they could gather ingredients and supplies for a fairly cheap and make with love and effort.

They did the same for Rhysand's family, showing their gratitude for his mother's choice to pull the three of them into their home. Azriel and Cassian traded gifts with Rhysand while Rhiannon had to wait.

Anxiousness Had set into the pit of her stomach as she got dressed this morning. Rhysand's mother had taken gentle care, braiding her long dark hair, making sure her nails were trimmed and clean, that her hands were oiled and moisturized.

She had ensured Rhiannon had been gifted a fine set of oils and lotions along with a pretty lacy outfit she had hand made for “when the time felt right.”

The evening came quickly, prompting Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand's mother to leave the cabin, heading to the Mead Hall for celebrations and leaving the two mates completely alone.

Rhys had her between his legs, Tucked into his chest tight and placing small kisses along her temple and hairline. “I'm sorry I'm keeping you away from the camp party,” Rhys tilted her head up. “I just wanted time alone with you.”

Rhiannon smiled softly. “If you think I'd rather spend a single moment in that hall with those males, you truly underestimate my love for you.”

“I thought we could talk about that,” Rhysand began softly. “About love and us.” Rhys sat her up, hiding the small black box behind him. “You know I love you, right?”

The falling look on her face had Rhysand back pedaling Watching in horror as she moved away from him and sat down in the opposite couch.

He moved to her instantly, grabbing her soft small hands. “I already fucked that up,” he muttered taking a deep breath. “What I mean is, I do love you, and I hope I have made that clear and obvious.”

He took a deep breath, pausing to kiss her left hand. “I have loved you long before the Bond snapped, and I would love you regardless of it being in place. From the moment Azriel carried you in the doorway begging mother for help, I felt drawn to you.”

Another long pause came as he kissed each knuckle on her hand. “I knew I loved you the moment you took down a male, not knowing he was one of Devlon's bastard Sons and beat the shit out of him for grabbing you. I knew I loved you when I pulled you off of him and went back to fight. I knew I loved you as you sat holding Ice to your lip getting lectured by mother and simply said, “let the camp lord know I'll do it again.” I knew I loved you because of your spark, your fight.”

Rhiannon looked away, hiding her amusement. “So you knew You loved me when it turned out I was violent.”

“You are a violent, murderous, little creature,” Rhysand purred softly, trying to hide the lust in his tone. “And I stupidly love every single ounce of it. I love your eyes when you see something that makes you happy. I love how you pout when I don't give you whatever you want-”

“I do not pout,” Rhys smirked at her, thumb going to her pouty bottom lip.

“Oh yes you do, Darling.” He kissed her gently. “I want to spend my life with you. Learning all the other things I can love. Growing to love the things I already do more.”

Before Rhiannon could respond and process what was happening, Rhys was on one knee before her, an open ring box in hand. “It would be a long engagement, Rhiannon Darling, but will you marry me?”

All she could do was nod, crying as she threw herself Into his arms, holding him tight. “I presume that is a yes?”

Rhiannon nodded before pulling him to her and kissing him deeply. It did not take long for that kiss to become more passionate. Rhys was on top of her in an instant, resting between her legs as they wrapped around his waist, hairs tangling into her long dark hair.

Her own hands found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them quickly and pushing it down his shoulders. Once the material was no longer there, Rhiannon began to run her hands over every exposed piece of skin. Nails and fingertips gently brushing some areas while other areas were squeezed.

The second those legs, those damned legs, wrapped around his waist, Rhys knew her intentions. He pulled apart from her, almost chuckled as she whined softly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathy as she tried to get him closer, nodding eagerly in confirmation.

Rhys got off the couch, lifting her With him as he did and carried her to her room. “I refuse to let your first time be on a couch instead of a bed,” he laid her down, smiling ferally as he did.

It was teasingly slow, removing her from her clothing, smiling as she laid Naked below him, dark hair spread out around her head like a halo. “So beautiful, darling.” Rhys placed soft kisses along her jawline, whispering to her as his fingers trailed every curve.

Her skin was on fire from every pass, every gentle caress, every touch she'd never experienced before. The second his tongue flicked Her nipple, a whine she'd never heard from herself tumbled from plush parted lips. “So sensitive,” Rhys muttered before licking and sucking her breast while his hand played with the other one. Once he was satisfied, he freed her nipple with a soft pop Before switching sides.

Rhiannons' back arched more cries falling from her lips as her hands tangled in his soft hair. “Please,” she whimpered, thighs clenching together as wetness and heat pooled between them. “Rhysand, please.”

He tutted her softly, mouth returning to hers. “You'll take what I give you, when I give it to you,” another harsher kiss had her whimpering. “Understood, darling?”

“Yes, husband,” the word spurred something primal in Rhysand. Eyes going dark with lust and need.

Since that bond had snapped, all he had wanted was to be hers, for her to be his in return, and now he was taking it. He was stealing this opportunity. Rhys kissed down her body again, growling when he finally hit her core. “So fucking pretty.”

He gave her no warning, diving into her cunt like a man starved. Rhiannon quickly became a mess of moans and cries. The foreign feeling he was bringing her was unmatched to anything she had made herself feel before.

She knew Rhysand was a talented lover, having laid in bed late at night hearing him with the few females he would bring home before they had gotten together, before the Bond snapped, but this was unimaginable.

It was messy. Tongue spreading and taking slick as he lapped at her entrance and clit.

It was hot. Sweat forming on both of their bodies as the room grew warmer and warmer, as panting took the place of stable breaths.

It was raw passion. Each lick, nudge, moan a measurement moment. Each tightening of her core, of her stomach twisting causing more drive as she pushed it down the bond to him.

It took minutes that felt like seconds for her to fall apart on his tongue, that coil snapping as she screamed his name and stars took place of her vision.

Rhys kissed her clit before moving back up her body, hand replacing his tongue and fingers running through her folds. “You taste divine,” his lips found hers, tongue going into her mouth to share his new favorite wine with her. “I could spend days between your beautiful thighs, Rhiannon.”

He was distracting her, praising Her with soft kisses and words. When he finally felt his finger was wet enough, he slowly pushed it in, watching her face as her breath hitched and eyes rolled back.

“Relax, little mate,” he whispered. “I have you.” He moved agonizingly slow, forehead resting On hers as her breathing picked up again. He smiled as her walls relaxed, Welcoming his finger deeper into her warmth. “There we go. Doing such a good job, darling.”

Rhiannon had her eyes locked shut, mouth opened to a soft o as she felt that coil begin to wind itself up again. She could feel Rhysand's eyes on her, his spare hand tracing her cheekbone As a second finger entered her, stretching her out more to prepare her for him.

Rhys seemed to be on a mission. His fingers were curling, scissoring, searching. It was obvious when he found what he was looking for. He watched as his mate took a deep breath, back arched again, and then a Loud moan of his name fell from swollen lips. He felt his stomach stirring with male pride as he Began to aim over and over for that same spot, feeling wave after wave of her arousal and pleasure shooting down the bond.

He had her pulled apart within seconds again. The pride of it all shot straight to his ego.

His beautiful little mate.

Folding for him Over and over again.

Rhys kissed her deeply, deciding she was ready and pulled his fingers out. “Last Chance to tell me to stop, Rhiannon.” Rhys' forehead found hers again, going into her mind to find any doubt. Instead he found love, contentment, need, lust. Her thoughts were clouded and occupied by him. His scent, his intelligence, his voice. His own clothes were long forgotten, slick soaked hand moving to coat himself before lining up with her. “Tell me it hurts and we stop.” She nodded, hands going to his biceps as her hazel eyes met his.

Rhys pushed in slowly, watching her like a hawk. Her nails dug into his arms, almost spurring him on As she whimpered softly underneath him. He stopped as she tensed up, gently stroking her hair, “You have to relax, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” Rhiannon, done with teasing and wanting this part over With, wrapped her legs Around his waist, forcing him in deeper with a gasp. Rhys growled, burying his head into her neck as his self control slowly began to disappear. He pushed in the rest of the way, groaning as her soft walls hugged him.

They sat like that for a few seconds, allowing her to relax further, to adapt to the intrusion. “Rhys, please,” she begged. “Gods please move.” He was lost in the haze of her, pulling out slowly before pushing back in and setting a soft rhythm. Their hands found each other, fingers lacing together as he made love to her, hitting that perfect spot every time he reentered her body. “I love you,” he whispered and smiled as she said it back.

“Faster,” she panted. Rhys felt his smile go feral. His speed picked up, watching as her breasts bounced. His free hand found her hip, squeezing the side of her ass as he took her.

Their joint pleasure was building quickly as they freely sent it to each other down the bond. Rhys could feel himself nearing that edge and brought his fingers to her clit. “Need you to cum, Rhi,” he almost begged her for it. His Fingers began to circle that bud, watching through heavy eyes as she began chanting his name over and over again, walls fluttering and clenching around him. “Need to feel you fall apart on my cock, little wife.”

That word.

That precious word.

The word that made this all okay in her mind was her undoing.

The idea of being his wife. His mate. His everything.

She shattered around him, crying for him and screaming his name as she came. She saw the heavens behind her eyes as she pulled him closer, mind lost in the feeling of him, the smell of him, the need for him.

Rhys tumbled over the edge seconds later, moaning her name loudly as did.

The room that had previously echoed with the sound of her slick, skin making contact, of their moans was now silent. Breathing the only thing indicating life was still there. Rhys pulled Out of her slowly, picking her up the second he was stable on his own feet and carrying her to the bathroom.

He bathed her as she slept in his arms, his own mind still processing that this had finally happened.

She woke up the next morning, ring on her finger to the sound of Cassian egging on a fight. Rolling her eyes, Rhiannon left her bed, Walking to the kitchen and joining Rhysand's mother at the table for coffee. “How long?” She asked.

Amara looked at Rhys and Azriel, watching as the shadowsinger landed another punch. “About 10 minutes. Should be done soon. Let's talk wedding dresses.”

Rhiannon smiled, leaning her head on Amara’s shoulder. “Happy solstice, mom.”

“Happy solstice, Rhi.”

[something-tofightfor]

Smutsgiving Feast 2023: Scalloped Potatoes - Javier Peña

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,132

Rating: M.

Author's Note: This is - surprisingly - the least smutty of them all... but it's Javi, so you know the undertones are there.

Summary: Javi needs a little reassurance.

You found him outside on the porch, a cigarette hanging loosely from between his fingers. 

“Javi?” Letting the door shut behind you, you stepped cautiously toward him. “Is everything alright?” 

“I fucked it up.” He scoffed, shaking his head without making eye contact. “I had to do one fuckin’ thing for this, and I couldn’t -”

“Javier, they were just potatoes.” Leaning against the railing in front of where he was sitting, you crossed your arms over your chest and sighed. “And people will still eat them, they just got … a little crispy around the edges.” 

“They burned.” He finally looked up at you, and you saw the disappointment in his eyes, his lips set into a frown so deep you would have classified it as a scowl. “I couldn’t even follow the recipe on a goddamn box. I spent how many years in fucking Colombia and it’s a recipe that makes me feel like …” 

He trailed off, shaking his head and looking away, and you used the opportunity to watch him for a few seconds, composing your thoughts.

You understood that his reaction to a simple mistake was due to him still acclimating to being home and a civilian, and expectations on him changing. You knew his inexperience with cooking was because while in South America, he’d relied on takeout and the occasional frozen meal to tide him over in the event that he even remembered to eat. 

His offer to cook something for the get together had been a huge deal - not because of what he planned to make, but because he’d been the one to bring it up in the first place. And he needs to know that. “I almost burned my house down when I was a kid.” That got his attention, Javi’s head shooting back up, his eyes wide. “I wanted to make a cake, and so I did everything I needed to - mixed everything up, put it into two cake pans, had the oven at the right temperature … but I must have gotten a glob of the Crisco on the outside of one of the pans.” 

You paused, thinking back to the day - the smoke filling your kitchen, the acrid smell of burning scaring the hell out of you while you ran to get your mother before anything bad could happen. 

“It got hot and melted, and it dripped onto the bottom of the oven.” You shrugged, chewing briefly on your bottom lip. “The house smelled for days, and I wasn’t allowed to cook or bake anything for two months.” He smiled briefly at that, his eyes following your movement as you pushed off of the railing and stepped closer to him. “My point, though, Javi….” You sighed as you lowered onto your knees in front of him, resting both hands on his thighs. “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning to cook.” 

“But it’s a holiday.” He frowned again, shaking his head back and forth slowly. “And I’m thirty s-” 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s a learning curve.” You squeezed with one hand, purposely picking the knee you knew was ticklish. When his leg jerked beneath your touch, he hissed, swatting at you with the hand not holding the cigarette. “They’re still edible. Hell, if no one wants to eat them, that’s more for me later.”

“Don’t do that.” He rolled his eyes, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray beside his chair. “Don’t try and make me feel better.” 

“Why?” Tilting your head to the side, you arched a brow. “I’m not going to lie to you. If your food was shit, I’d tell you.” He considered your words for a few seconds while you waited silently, eyes on Javi’s face.

You loved looking at him - loved the way his dark hair was just beginning to thread with silver, could have spent hours mapping the freckles on his skin, and knew exactly what kind of mood he was in from a quick gaze into his eyes. But what you loved most was that underneath all of that was a man that cared deeply about other people - and about what they thought of him. It’s not just potatoes to him.

“We can just tell anyone that asks that they stayed in the oven a little too long because we got … distracted.” 

His eyes flashed at that suggestion, but he didn’t reply right away, instead staring back at you with thinly veiled interest. Got you. I know that look. But I’m not going to make it easy on you. When he finally answered, he did so after leaning forward and covering your hands with his, both thumbs rubbing over your knuckles. “Distracted by … what?” 

“Something on TV?” You wrinkled your nose and then shook your head. “Nah, that won’t work. We still would have heard the timer.” His hands moved up and toward your forearms, your knees sliding across the floorboards as Javi pulled you slightly closer. “Something outside? Maybe we heard a noise in the yard, or -”

“Or,” he started, leaning in and lowering his head so that he could speak into your ear. “We could just tell ‘em that we lost track of time because we were busy.” Javi took your earlobe between his teeth and then flicked it with his tongue, making you gasp. “People know me. They’ll believe it.” 

“No, they won’t.” You answered immediately, and Javi pulled back right away, too, confusion on his face. “If that’s what we’d been doing, those potatoes would have been charcoal, Javier.” 

It took a few seconds but he actually laughed - the sound deep and rich and wonderful - something you heard far too little of. I love that, too. “Buen punto.” He rubbed a hand over his face, fingertips lingering at the space between his brows and then said your name, the sound leaving no question about his intent. 

“There’s nothing in the oven now, right?” You mouthed the word no, watching as Javi’s smile widened. “Then I say we go and let ourselves get distracted for real.” You always wanted him, but at that suggestion, the desire coiled in your belly bloomed, heat surging through you. “Unless you want to run to the store and get a couple more boxes of -”

“Absolutely not.” You stood, holding both hands out for him to take. He did, standing too, and when you were face to face, Javi’s expression softened. The man reached up to hold the side of your neck, his thumb settling over your pulse point. So he knows how fast my heart’s beating. “Fuck the potatoes, Javi.”

He grinned then, shaking his head. “The potatoes aren’t getting fucked tonight.” It made you laugh, your eyes closing briefly - but they flew open at his next words, which were spoken with his lips hovering just over yours. “Can’t say the same thing about you, though.”

—-  Buen punto = good point

[elegantmusicdragon]

Adventures in Bravo-Sitting

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Babysitter!Reader (f!Reader probably? Can be gn!Reader for now)

Rating/Warning: Just some language! Words that rhyme with certain swears. Me being a menace. You know how it goes.

A/N: Okay so this is for @blueeyesatnight who just went a on a Dieter/Babysitter journey with me and inspired me to crank this fic out in two days. Haven't written a fucking thing except a fic I won't post and THIS. Blue, you're the best and Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas (if you celebrate) and thank you so much for the inspo! Our Dieter/Babysitter thread is my favorite thing and also if you wanna write some of these two or your own version PLEASE DO IT. I encourage it! Much love to you.

To anyone else who may read this: thanks for sticking around and checking this not beta'd dumpster fire. I have no clue what this is. It came out of my brain and onto the page in a frenzy. But it's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Enjoy! And Happy Holidays!

You are terribly confused. 

"We know this is highly unconventional." 

Well, that's putting it mildly. 

"In all honesty, I've seen weirder." A nightmare child smearing his feces all over the baking appliances and a cake his mother had made takes the trophy as of now. Though this situation is a close second. 

The woman, Amanda, smiles at you - relief flooding her features. She readjusts herself on the ridiculously fancy chair she's sitting on. Behind her, a small cluster of people in suits and business skirts gather. And between Amanda and the group? A man. Well, not man. Celebrity. A celebrity who seems to be grumbling something close to the words “ducking shooshes”.  

You never thought you'd end up babysitting Dieter Bravo but, you guess, things could be weirder. 

"Can I just...ask...um...why does a grown man need a babysitter?"

Dieter rolls his eyes and cuts in, "I don't." 

Amanda talks over him, "I'm sure you've seen the...incidents...on the Cliff Beasts set." 

You nod. "Absolutely, who hasn't? A drug overdose, quickie marriage, annulment - all within the span of a year. And the giant bender in Vegas with the showgirl last month? It's been all over the news." 

Amanda nods, tension lining her face. Behind her, Dieter rolls his eyes again. 

"It wasn't that bad." 

Amanda finally graces Dieter with an irritated glance. Her voice raises slightly, “Not that bad, Dee?? You almost destroyed the MGM Grand’s lobby, casino, and the penthouse suite you were staying in! That showgirl almost lost an eye!” 

Dieter rolls his neck back to face the ceiling, “Yeah, but she didn’t. She was fun,” he chuckles. “Liked to party. We still got her number?”

You see a vein throb in Amanda’s forehead. You’re not quite sure if you should butt into their conversation. Amanda grips the planner she holds so tightly, her knuckles begin to turn white. 

“No, Dee. We don’t have her number. You know, since she ALMOST LOST AN EYE??” 

Dieter sighs. “Oh my god, she was fine. It was safe. I was totally able to handle that machete. That lobby guy was just scared.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

Amanda fires back, “He was the manager!!! And you were swinging a machete at one of his showgirls!” 

“I wasn’t gonna hurt her, god it’s like you think I’m irresponsible or something.” 

Oh god what have you gotten yourself into???

You reach down and attempt to subtly get your belongings. You’ve decided you want no part in…whatever this is. To your utter disappointment, you’re apparently not subtle enough. Amanda’s eyes dart to where your hand is resting on the strap of your bag. Her eyes widen just a fraction in desperation. 

“I know we’re not giving the best impression here. But I promise, this is going to be a very rewarding experience. Dieter is special!” 

She had said that on the phone too, but it was your fault you had misinterpreted it. Dieter clearly is special just…not in the way you were expecting. He’s special in a super-fuckin-entitled-wealthy way. 

You swallow and your eyes dart to Dieter, who hasn’t looked at you once since this whole meet and greet started. 

“Listen, Amanda, I’m really flattered that you and your…” You peter off, realizing the entire group of people behind her are now listening to you basically say no to this insane job. Are they really surprised you’re not interested in this? 

You clear your throat and continue, “team…want me to do this. I just don’t quite think I’m what you’re looking for.” 

Amanda looks behind her at a gentleman in a neatly pressed suit. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear. She nods, and turns back to you. Dieter remains absorbed in the ceiling. 

“Alright,” Amanda starts, “how about I show you what your pay would look like and we’ll take it from there? Maybe we could do a trial run if the amount is to your liking?” 

Dieter snorts. “It’ll be to her liking, I’m loaded.” 

Amanda rolls her eyes. Despite that, she keeps her focus on you. “Well?” She asks. 

You sigh. You know you’re caught between a rock and hard place. Money? Or no money? Well, even if this job isn’t what you necessarily thought it would be, it couldn’t hurt to look at the amount. Why the hell not? 

You shrug. “Sure,” you reply back to Amanda. “I guess looking at the number can’t hurt.” 

She smiles and nods, turning to confer with the gentleman behind her again. They whisper to each other for a few minutes before Amanda turns back to you. 

“Okay! I just want to clarify that we’ll be starting with a trial run of a week. If just you, or both you and Dieter-” 

He snorts at his name. Amanda studiously ignores him and continues on. 

“Are interested in keeping this arrangement going, we’ll re-discuss and go from there. Is that amenable to you?”

You nod. “Sounds good to me.” 

Amanda smiles widely, looking truly relieved for the first time since you stepped into the room. 

“Great!” She replies. She reaches behind her to grab a small piece of paper from the suited gentleman (who is he???) and hands it over to you. You surreptitiously glance over at Dieter. For the first time, you find his eyes on you. You shiver slightly. His eyes sparkle with…something. 

You look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hands. You’re more nervous than you thought you’d be. You open it slightly and see the number written down.

WOW that’s a LOT of zeroes! Holy crap. 

You look at Amanda.

“Trial run it is.” 

P.S. Banners by @firefly-graphics

Tags:

@grampsgirl14

@apsiringghostmusicians

Anyone else want a tag? Lemme know!

[sophietv]

The Ultimate LSK Threads Of Koincidences (2020) Part 1

Ok, since there's soooo much. I'll do it by years and link the other.

See Fall 2019 before reading this one (X)

As I did in the other, I'll link posts that explains certain piece of Kaylor Lore so you are able to better understand certain Koincidences. So if there's an (X) beside something, it's to give more context and info.

Here's the list of every Koincidences that happened in 2020.

If I forgot something, don't hesitate to tell me and I'll add it so we have everything!

Here's the amazing masterposts that helped me a lot make this part (X) (X)

January 2020

January 1st:

Karlie does a 2019 recap video on Klossy and says something really inchteresting about her second wedding:

"Kind of had a second wedding, but, it was pretty much just a party"

January 17th:

Karlie went did an interview with Andy Cohen and she talks about her "Love Story" and there's just sooo much to unpack there:

"This is quite a Love Story actually"

"I met my man in 2012" (The "I love Karlie Kloss! I want to bake cookies with her" is from 2012) See my before 2013 Kaylor timeline (X)

Also Karlie saying "my man" to "that's my man, every bait and switch was a work of art"

"It's not been easy, but it's worth it" I'm - 🥹🥹🥹

"I would make that same decision a million times again" ties pretty well with "For you I would ruin myself, a million little times"

January 31st:

Miss Americana is out.

Karlie is credited in the movie. There's a scene where you see a glimpse of her at the AMAs red carpet.

But most importantly... the Call It What You Want scene:

Soooo much to unpack on that scene.

Some say that with the reflections on the guitar, you see a woman. But that's not the most important thing.

First.

There's a littelal Easter egg:

Second.

She's wearring the Victoria Secret Angel Ring.

Source : Tily Nation

But the most important evidence is that when Taylor lifts her foot and you hear someone laughing singing: "I did one thing right"

It's not Taylor, it's Karlie.

Someone isolated the vocals and you can hear it very clearly (X)

(Putting the video here just so if the post is deleted, we don't loose it)

Source @lexiiieee223

Also, when by the end Taylor sings "Karlie would you want to?" you hear Karlie say "Yes!" before Taylor even finishes singing (impossible to be Taylor).

This whole scene is used in the Lover Lyrics Video (X)

February 2020:

February 12:

Karlie is papped during New York Fashion Week wearing a daisy coat. (X).

February 18:

Karlie post a story with a drawing of the dress Taylor wore for the NFL ME! announcement...for Galentine's day:

February 27:

The Man MV is out with tons of Karlie's reference. (sadly I did not do a thread yet about all of it).

But the most important part is the fake wedding:

No one's there to officiate it.

But the absolute loudest thing of all is this:

Look closely at the ring. The pose. Everything.

See my Love Blackout post for more information on this, because this is LOUD (X)

February 28:

Every year since the Love Locked Down (X), Karlie takes a picture in Paris around that time.

Here's a thread of all the times since 2015: (X)

March 2020:

March 3rd:

Karlie post during a vacation. In the exact same snow outfit that Taylor posed in for Variety 4 months before.

And March 3d is also really really close to their anniversary...

March 20th:

Karlie's first post since Lockdown.

Also, first post of 2020 where she is wearring the Amulette de Cartier. (X) (Very important!)

You can also see those amazing posts about it (X) (X)

May 2020:

May 7th:

Taylor wears a daisy shirt on her Instagram post:

May 5th:

Karlie makes a post about a Turkey Baster...

Right aroung the time where she would have been trying to get pregnant for Levi to be born on March 11th 2020.

May 10th:

Taylor does a post for Mother's day with a video and caption talking about her being 10 months old.

(Levi is born 10 months later).

May 13th:

Eye theory in Karlie's Instagram story. (X)

March 14:

Taylor does a very interesting post about Buns in the oven.

9 days after Karlie's Turkey Baster post.

There's 10 buns on the picture, Levi was born 10 months later.

June 2020:

June 25th:

Karlie does a post about forgetting to feed the Tamagotchi.

Interesting. Considering that in Miss Americana, Taylor compares babies to Tamagotchis...

July 2020:

July 10th :

Karlie post a video on Instagram dancing in a cardigan in a forest. 13 days before Folklore's release.

Wich is practically identical to a video Taylor did for Folklore.

Taylor's Cardigan video:

Karlie's :

July 16:

Karlie does a story about her July Klossy Run Club with a calendar.

Her pfp points directly to Folklore's release date:

July 17:

Karlie post an interesting Instagram picture with a Sun Flower that is very reminescent of the Lover photoshoot Taylor did witht the daisy.

Also. Eye theory.

This is 7 days before Folklore's release.

Do you see the ressemblance?

July 23rd:

Karlie does a post with pictures of her in the forest à la Folklore.

This prompted a lot of medias to talk about how Karlie was showing her support to Taylor for her new album release.

I've reached my limit of 30 images per post!

Tumblr agrees with me that these girls are A LOT 😅 (In the best way!).

Here's the link to Part 2! : (X)