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moonstruckme · 5 months

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And then I have one but idk which marauder to make it for so I’ll let you pick whoever you think it fits better. I have to take medicine for my OCD and anxiety but it’s embarrassing. So I’m like imagining who you pick staying the night with the reader and her skipping her medicine because she’s embarrassed but being off medicine messes you up. So clearly the reader would be alittle down and out of it so her friend asks her if she’s okay and if she took her medicine. Welllllll the marauder hears that and later that night when they are getting ready for bed he simply hands her a glass and asks her to take her medicine please and mentions how he wants all of her that includes the quirks, need for medicine, and need for comfort sometimes too.

I decided to make this part of the Sirius x Remus' roommate saga, hope that's alright! Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

cw: some symptoms of withdrawal, reader takes prescription meds

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Apparently, even when Sirius gets you out of your flat for the weekend, Remus is still always in the middle of things.

“I can’t believe you got him to watch New Girl,” Remus complains over speakerphone as you make yourself a cup of tea. Sirius had offered to do it for you, but you’d brushed him off, and he’d been too busy secretly delighting in how comfortable you are in his flat to argue further. “James and I have been trying to get him to watch the first episode for years.”

“Mmm, you’ve got to start on season three to get people interested, then go back,” you tell him wisely. “I showed him my favorite episode, the one with…uh…”

You trail off, and Sirius looks at you over the top of the couch. There’s a dissatisfied pinch between your brows.

“The one with the spider?” Remus prompts knowingly.

“Right.” You blink a couple of times, refocusing on your mug as you pour hot water in over the teabag. “That one.”

“Well, the apartment is quiet without you, but I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Sirius’ mouth curls as he waits for your response. Though he sometimes still gets jealous of the easy intimacy between you as roommates, he’s come to enjoy the entertainment value of your banter with Remus. The apartment’s just as quiet with me, you’ll say, or You don’t even want to know what kind of fun we’re having.

But your gaze has gone distant, and after a few seconds, the reply doesn’t seem like it’s going to come.

Sirius feels worry snake around his ribcage, a light but noticeable pressure. A few hours ago, you’d complained of a headache, and ever since then you’ve seemed in an odd headspace. You’re quieter than you’ve ever been around him, you claimed not to feel like lunch, and he’s caught you stumbling or losing track of your thoughts on more than a couple occaisions. He’d asked once if you’d wanted to go home, but you’d promised you were fine and Sirius didn’t want to push the issue. He loves having you here, he really does, but he hopes it’s nothing about being in his home that’s making you seem so…off. He’d compromised by suggesting you show him that show you’re always referencing (Remus and James were right, it actually is pretty good) in the hopes that a few hours of relaxation would help restore you to yourself, but you don’t seem to be feeling better.

Even over the phone, Remus picks up on it too. “You alright?”

“Mm?” You blink. “Oh, yeah.” There’s a forced cheer to your voice, and Sirius watches as you roll your shoulders as if bracing yourself. “I’m just a little tired, I guess.”

Remus hums, the sound crackling through the speaker. “Did you take your medicine last night?”

You take him off speaker. Sirius turns when your eyes dart towards where he’s sitting on the couch, taking the coward’s way out on instinct and pretending he wasn’t paying attention.

“I’m fine,” you say quietly into the phone. Sirius can’t hear Remus well enough anymore to make out his response, but he recognizes the slow, coaxing inflection of his friend’s voice. Your own tone sharpens in contrast, though you sound heartbreakingly exhausted. “I’ve got it. Yep, thanks. See you tomorrow.”

You blow on your tea as you join Sirius on the couch, not a trace of apprehension about you. He extends his arm invitingly, and you slot underneath it like it’s home.

“I gather you two aren’t used to time apart,” he teases, trying to entice a smile from you.

It works, albeit only slightly. The curve of your lips is minute, but he’ll take it. “We’re both homebodies,” you say simply. “We’ve grown too used to being around each other.”

“His privilege and your curse,” Sirius laments, exaggerating his grunt when you elbow him in the ribs. “Fine, you’re both very lucky. I’m just glad I managed to snag you for one weekend.” When he aims a saccharine smile your way, he suspects you set your cheek on his shoulder as a ploy to hide your blush. It melts him regardless, like ice cream in the summertime. “Want to watch another episode, lovely girl?”

He frowns when all that gets out of you is a hum, rubbing your bicep as he presses play.

He manages to get some dinner into you by insisting you try takeaway from his favorite Thai place in the neighborhood, and you seem amenable to the idea of an early night, all but drooping over the sink as you brush your teeth.

Sirius will never admit it, but his heart is pounding as he takes a glass down from above the kitchen sink, filling it with water. He hopes this isn’t a massive overreach. This thing between you is still relatively new, and the last thing he wants is to make your first stay at his place awkward for either of you, but he cares about you. From what Sirius can tell, you’ve withdrawn into what seems like an unhappy place inside your head, and he can’t just leave you there by yourself.

He catches you just as you’re leaving the bathroom, passing you the glass of water as casually as he can, as if it's the most routine thing in the world, before taking your place at the sink. “Don’t forget your medicine,” he says softly, taking his toothbrush from beside yours in the cup.

For a moment, you’re quiet. Sirius squirts toothpaste onto his brush, trying his damndest not to look for your reaction in the mirror.

“You heard Remus on the phone.” It’s almost a whisper. Nowhere close to a question.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius apologizes, glancing up at your reflection. You’re looking distant again, your gaze fixed somewhere to the left of his face. “I’m sorry if I heard something you didn’t want me to, but it’s…did you forget?”

You take another long moment to reply. Sirius is careful to stay quiet, giving you space as you chew your lip, but when your eyes meet his in the mirror you look so crestfallen his heart nearly stops. “I didn’t forget,” you admit. “It’s just so embarrassing, I didn’t want you to know.”

He can’t stay still anymore. His toothpaste drops with a wet smack into the bowl of the sink when he sets his toothbrush on the rim, and he’s got your hands in his in a second. “Sweetheart, what do you mean?” He keeps ahold of one of your hands, letting his other one coast up your arm to your shoulder, where his thumb massages your collarbone familiarly. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s just, it’s something you need to be yourself. Like…my sparkly doc martens, you know? Or Remus’ chocolate hoards.”

Your laugh is brief, more a huffed exhale than anything, but Sirius grins at you nonetheless. His hand moves up to cup the back of your neck, thumb soothing over the edge of your jaw.

“You know what I really like about you?” he asks. You don’t look inclined to answer, but your left brow flicks up as if to say Go on. “Everything.”

You scoff, seeming lighter even as you pull away from grasp. “Shut up.”

“No, really,” he insists, vying for your hand back. “Getting to know you, it’s been amazing. Every new thing I learn is just something more to like.” You finally stop fighting him, eyes wary as he grips you by the shoulders, keeping you in place. “I want to learn everything there is to know about you, whenever you’ll let me. And I know I can’t expect it all at once,” he says, voice dropping into a more sincere register, “but I want all of it, including the parts you think—wrongly, I might add—are embarrassing.” He gives your upper arms a light squeeze. “Got that, pretty girl?”

A light blush colors your cheeks, and Sirius grins. You’re getting harder to fluster these days, but he delights in making it happen whenever he can. “Okay,” you say, still a tad sheepish for his liking. He plants a kiss on your cheek.

“Good. Now go get your meds. I don’t want you passing out during breakfast tomorrow because of withdrawal.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snipe, but he hears the rattle of pills as you dig through your overnight bag.

“Whatever,” he says breezily, picking up his toothbrush to put a new dollop of paste onto it. “I just can’t reckon with the idea that Remus still knows things about you I don’t. Shouldn’t I outrank him by now?”

“You’ve had roommates,” you tell him, coming back into the bathroom with the glass of water half empty. “You’re really going to tell me that they don’t know more about you than I do right now?”

Sirius makes a noncommittal, muffled sound, pointing to his toothpaste-filled mouth as excuse not to answer.

“Right,” you say drily. “Maybe we should call your pal Remus and see if he happens to recall.”

Sirius has never spit so fast in his life.

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zorosbeau33 · 2 months

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Oi, you wanna die? Zoro x Gender Neutral Reader Drabble

❖ One Piece, Zoro x gender neutral reader

❖ Scenarios/Drabble, Established Relationship AU, Protective Boyfriend Zoro

❖ TRIGGER WARNING Unwanted advances from a third party, 18+ Only due to theme

❖ wc: 1706

❖ Prompt "You said no and they didn't listen how does your partner respond?" ❖ Masterlist ❖ Luffy Version

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Hope you all enjoy~ A couple people had requested more of the crew so here is Zoro for a start! I wasn't quite sure where to go with it but I think this will suffice for now!

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

The marines didn’t seem to notice things were amiss, then again none of them probably dared to imagine the legendary Straw Hat pirates would crash a military gala. Zoro himself fidgeted behind his mask, eye sweeping the room and numbering dozens of high ranking officials. This was definitely not his scene, stuffed into a black and sparkly prince costume with black jewel encrusted mask? Yeah not his style at all. The amount of men and women he’d shrugged off, or downright snubbed tonight in favor of finding more alcohol to drink was staggering. Not that he’d noticed, after one dance that he’d only done because Nami threatened him to do it to blend in long before they’d actually broken in. Flirtations were not his strong suit, and being a firm believer in no ending all advances he was disgusted when several people tried to laugh it off and continue in their attempts to touch him.

All of this has culminated in the pursing of his lips as he tried not to sneer in disgust. Leaning against a pillar during a brief moment of quiet to himself Zoro once again scanned the room. It was beginning to unnerve him, sure he could see Nami fitting in without any issues wrapped in the arms of a high ranking admiral. Hell he could even see precious precocious prince Sanji with a line of women waiting to dance with him. That might come to bite them in the ass soon if the jealous glares of the womens husbands and wives said anything. However Zoro believed the cook would reap what he sowed and that it was none of his business. What nagged at him however was the evident lack of…you.

For three hours they had patrolled the floor and the garden, and yet you were no where to be found. A frown did manage to tug his lips downwards when he moved around a thick crowd of people and up the stairs. Yes, he should leave it be and concentrate on the mission of extracting all the information they could while Nami stole the key off the admiral and passed it along to Luffy, Robin and Brook. But the nagging sensation of you being missing for THIS long? Nothing normally could stir him to panic-reasonable panic. His captain falling in the water or slingshotting directly at his face was reasonable panic. This was not such a time, bubbles seemed to turn to knots in his gut. His scar itched.

Halfway up the stairs he heard it, unable to hide his reaction as he perked up swinging his head around towards the sound of a familiar laugh. Zoro felt you before he saw you, Haki registering your presence far closer to him than he had anticipated. In fact there in the middle of the group of people he had been made to work around several times, stood your glorious form. Nami had outdone herself with your outfit and Zoro had almost swallowed his tongue on the ship when he first saw you. Now even more so under the glitter and glow of the chandeliers, your laugh made the tension melt from his muscles while he stopped his prowling to take you in. In this atmosphere you were radiant, seemingly to have been born out of the most beautiful emerald just to grace the presence of those around you. The jewel encrusted mask covering your face only added to the mystery around you, causing those around you to lean in all the closer. Perhaps you needed no savior, though Zoro felt it his first duty as the man that belonged to you. Swordsmiths above he was so smitten with you, lingering on the stairs above your group to watch you, scowl melting into a tender smile. He would have to apologize to Nami and Luffy later, his sword was supposed to belong to his captain then the mission. But here the only person he could allow claim to him was your radiance. A betrayal he was sure they would understand, it was common knowledge to all of the crew that his heart and soul had found their home in your hands.

So imagine his rage when your smile fell away into a look of shock, yanking your arm back from the grips of a pot bellied slobbering ‘gentleman’. Capable like he knew you were, you quickly extricated yourself from the pudgy admiral who reeked of weaks old cheese and beer. The gaudy prince attire nearly popping buttons off as the heavy drinker puffed himself up indignantly. Zoro would miss the next few moments as he rushed down the staircase and began to force his way through the gasping and shocked onlookers who had until this moment been fawning over your intelligence and eloquent words. His fury was three fold for he knew how hard you had practiced to learn all these speech patterns and points of talk to be a good distraction as needed by the plan. However when the noise of a slap rang out he couldn’t help but bark a command for the people in front to move.

Being all of military standing or married into, they felt his haki and heard his commands and moved apart at once. Years of training telling even the higher ranks this must be someone with power and the gravitas of higher station To do such a thing at the military gala. Relief infantesimally warmed his cold gaze, the sound of the slap had in fact come from your strike and not the admirals. Zoro knew this man too well, he’d bought and blustered his way up to the position he was in now, and falling out of graces with Akainu’s strength based rule had resorted to underhanded trickery and binge drinking.

“Once a sleeze ball always a sleezeball.” scoffed someone in the crowd as a woman pulled you closer to herself and away from the enraged man before you. Bits of wien splattered down his front as he spluttered and clutched his hand to his chest, beer belly nearly busting his gaudy belt buckle.

“Admiral he started it! They told him no and he tried to force it! Should we court marshal him?” A young Captain stepped forward to report to Zoro, also taking on a defensive stance in front of you. To your credit you were playing the distressed and meak house spouse very well, although he knew just from looking your strike had most probably broken at least two of the mans meaty fingers. Thankfully it seemed his display had caused others to believe him to be an important military official rather than raise suspicion about his person. Zoro gathered himself together, he couldn’t afford to make too much of a scene here. While everyones masks and disguises made the party much safer for them to intervene. They did not need to draw to many eyes upon themselves or else the costumed Zoro’s in the crowd might jog someones mind to realize the real one was standing in front of them. After that it would only be a matter of minutes before the others would get picked out from the crowd as well.

He needed to protect you, but in a way that would seem appropriate and take attention off of you both and quickly. Squaring his shoulders Zoro tutted and switched all his weight to his right foot, arm resting on the hilt of his single sword. Adapting the posture of a haughty admiral was not difficult it often amused him when he was a bounty hunter to see all of their posturing, the arrogance was easy to emulate. A flick of the hand had several people stepping forward seizing the admirals wrists and forcing them behind him.

“This is a party, I advise you keep your voice down before I report your misdeeds to headquarters directly…” His deep voice rumbled and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Take him out of here without a scene, knock him out if you have to. The part-the gala is a place only those of high standing are allowed. Such behavior will not be tolerated, have him placed on trial…tomorrow morning he can sit in the cells for tonight.”

The man bellowed his outrage, stating his rank and to unhand him right this moment. In an instant Zoro’s hand was around his skull, and squeezing. Rage turned into pain and he gasped spluttering in pain, the captains almost dropping him in shock at the speed of Zoro’s moves.

“OI…do you wanna die?” Zoro growled lowly so only he and the two captains could hear. They froze and stared in shock and fear. The rage he had felt upon seeing the man place his hand on you without your consent, causing his pupils to dilate. Haki spreading over his fingertips hidden only by the gloves that accented his outfit. Blood pounding in his ears, ready to lay this man to sleep for his crime. The smell of the admiral wetting himself hardly registering to his senses, how dare this scum…Barely reeling himself in Zoro leaned back out and let him go. “You already placed your hands on my partner and now you disgrace this place. Get him out of our sight.”

Turning quickly on his heel Zoro took his handkerchief out and wiped the makeup from the admiral off his fingers in a show of disgust. Reeling in his rage before stopping in front of you again, thanking the woman in a low murmur as he took you from her grip. People bowed and scuttled out of his way while he hurriedly guided you away to the gardens, arm wrapped securely around your waist. Once in the open air he sighed in relief and slowed down checking on you now as he readied himself for Nami to beat him over the head once you returned to the ship. Yes you could have defended yourself, and you certainly had but he would always be here to ensure that you would be okay. Even if you teased him for his bad acting skills for the rest of his life, you being safe and your boundaries being respected were far more than worth it in his mind.

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mphountitled · 3 months

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Hi!! (this is the same anon that praised the magnificent work that was Picture Perfect.) i would like to make one itty bitty baby request. (now walk with me) imagine best friend!Sohee that's like low-key (🤫high-key) obsessed with you. he begrudgingly listens to you gush about the dates some guy (Seunghan, maybe? 👀) has taken you on. he constantly nitpicks the dates and points out anything remotely negative. until one day (dramatic pause), you casually tell him that you and that same guy (SEUNGHAN) had sex after your most recent date. a switch flips in Sohee and he's sooo pissed and yelling a lil bit. you're like "what the fuck?" and "hold on, Sohee's kinda… bites finger" at the same time. you guys end up having sex and it's FILTY (both physically and verbally.) flesh this out however you see fit. this literally came to me in a hazy vision (and only you can make it sound good 🙏🏾.)

What a spicy prompt. Never run out of ideas for me, please. I hope you like and so sorry for the wait <33

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Summary: He just doesn't deserve to be the goofy best friend. It's not fair.

Warnings: Language, Roommates!AU, Best Friends To Lovers, Obsession, Perv!Sohee,Cheating Implications, Slight Angst, Jealousy, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), Masturbation, Panty stealing, Handjobs, Blowjobs, Needy!Sohee, Grinding, Humping, Nipple Play, Spitting, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink

This is unedited because it's 1am. We die like hot girls here. If this is bad and incoherent don't mention it I beg...

If there is ever a time, Sohee wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. It would be now. Anything to get him away from here and the horrible fucking situation he has stumbled into.

Sohee had walked into your shared living room comfortably, almost nonchalantly, with his head bowed and his voice as characterically cheerful as ever. The packaged videogame is still clenched in his palms.

"This was the last one!” he burst into the living room, voice charged with enthusiasm, “I had to sell my soul to get it but-" Sohee did not anticipate walking in on you and Seunghan sitting so cosily on the couch, nor did he feel even remotely comfortable with the sight.

Your eyes widen slightly as you push off a reluctant Seunghan who had been nuzzling in between your neck.

Sohee, who already wore his entire bleeding heart on his sleeve, allowed his smile to dim dismally.

"Oh-I,” Your mouth hung open in apparent shock, “Sohee!"

His mood plummets at the sight of you hurriedly pulling to fix the button of your oversized flannel. "I didn't think you'd be home so early," You're scrambling to pull your bra strap up. At least you had the gall to appear somewhat flustered and somewhat uncomfortable. Seunghan on the other hand, ever the quiet brood, keeps his hand on your exposed thigh, with his lips pursed tight.

"I-I'm sorry for interrupting-'' Sohee isn't sure why the apology even tumbles out of his lips but it does and it causes a very deep, scorching heat to wash across his features. "It's just..." Sohee twiddles the video game cover in hands, evading all eye contact as he begins, "I-I thought we said we'd be playing today. I rented the game and everything…" Sohee doesn't dare exchange a single glance with Seunghan as he swallows thickly, "And that's why you said I should get off work earlier."

The way your eyes expand and your hands fly to cup your mouth makes Sohee feel marginally better.

"That was today? Fuck! I'm so sorry, Hee,"

"No! Don't even stress! I should've found out if you had other plans- I'm sorry."

"Jesus, Sohee don't apologise!” You look thoroughly displeased with yourself, nothing at all like the unbothered expression on Seunghan's face as he leans his head against your shoulder, still splaying mindless kisses against your skin as if Sohee wasn't even there.

It is then that Sohee decides, with blistering conviction and a beating heart, that Seunghan just doesn't deserve you.

"You shouldn't be the one apologising." You say, beginning to push yourself up off the couch, "Here, I'll turn on the tv-"

"Do that and we'll end up missing the concert." Seunghan finally pipes up beside you, "They're front row seats, babe… c'mon"

Sohee is forced to watch as you visibly melt from another man's gaze alone. The way Seymour slithers his hand around your waist, pulling your gaze towards him while you comply like a good little girl.

Sohee tastes the bile rising in the back of his throat and swallows.

"Sohee's not gonna mind," Seunghan continues, before turning to finally spare Sohee a single diginifying gaze, "Right little man?"

Sohee could hardly even begin to exclaim that he was hardly little but instead, he swallows down his words, as he is so used to doing, and he quietly says, "If you don't go, I'll kill you myself,"

The conflicted expression across your face melts away like glaciers in the summertime and you're immediately engulfing your best friend in the most suffocating hug. He never dares move away. He doesn't even dare wrap his arms around you, because your front is pressed flush against his and the blood is already beginning to rush to his cock.

You were the very object of his every desire.

Having you so close was far too dangerous.

Sohee's eyes flutter open to see Seunghan's sharp, cat-like smile over your shoulder, immediately snapping him out of his trance, until he's detangling his limbs from yours.

Sohee spends that night, as has become custom of most of his nights; with his hand down his pants, his head thrown back against the headboard, and his eyes squeezed painfully shut.

He ruts mindlessly against his own hand; vyour panties wrapped around his aching shaft and he thinks back on hours before, when you had your arms wrapped around him. How secure he felt being held there. How right it felt having you locked against him like a puzzle piece.

"You're so pretty," he mewls into the empty open air, "You're just so pretty- fuck, you feel so good " His voice is hoarse and his limbs are shaking with the knowledge that your bedroom was right next door. Empty. Absolutely void of the warmth of your presence. "Can't help it, can't help it, can't help it,"

He doesn't dare imagine what you and Seunghan might have accomplished were he not to storm in on you. He doesn't even let the thought take any sort of shape in the chambers of his mind because that space was reserved for you and him alone and soon, Sohee is moaning into the open air, forcing his eyes open so he could watch his cum spurt onto your panties and for all of 10 euphoric seconds, he is in utter bliss.

"Did you hear anything I even said?"

"What?" He most certainly didn't hear anything you said. Far too caught up in stealing intermittent glances at your breasts practically spilling out of the bust of your sundress.

"I need to start charging your mom double," You narrow your eyes, "She pays me to hang out with you,"

Sohee pushes you sideways, nearly toppling you to the other side of the couch as he continues skating his fingers over the controller.

Through the open blinds, the night is deep and a gentle heavenly breeze flows over the little gaming den you and Sohee created since the peroration of your evening together. What was supposed to be a 'study session' quickly morphed into Sohee challenging you and your incredibly arduous pride to multiple rounds of a new videogame. You're not very good at the games but Sohee is more than comfortable withholding any unnecessary skill.

Just to make you feel like you're winning.

He'd do just about anything you wanted him to.

"I didn't even see how late it's gotten, fuck- Seunghan's gonna kill me."

The time has quite literally slipped past you both, and Sohee's stomach growls in stark affirmation. He ignores it though, pausing the game to inquire, "Who?"

"Seunghan," you say, pushing yourself up from the couch. Sohee could sense a stark impression of history repeating itself and he'll be damned if he lets it happen again.

"I forgot he invited me to go watch the fireworks.” You continue obliviously, “The show starts at midnight so I should be able to make it if I-"

"You're going out with some random guy that late at night?" The smile on Sohee's face is permanent but you can sense the apprehension in his voice. It causes you to stop your movements.

You're standing adjacent to him, with your hand hanging limply from your open bag, "He's not just some random guy, though," you hope the chuckle at the end of your sentence might alleviate what little bit of tension is beginning to stir in the air.

Sohee is quiet which is very unlike him. You have your eyes narrowed with scepticism which is very unlike you.

The entire world feels like it's about to be tipped on its axis.

"He's my boyfriend."

"Who else is going to be there?" Sohee's vicious line of questioning overlaps with your defence.

"I don't think that's any of your business..."

Sohee shrugs, with his permanent smile still etched on his face as he leans forward, elbows on his knees "Humor me,"

"Seunghan wanted me to meet his friends," You're not sure why you tell him but you do.

"Isn't it a little too soon to be meeting his friends?"

Your eyebrows immediately furrow as you advance in on him, "Sohee-"

He sits back and gazes up at you from his spot on the couch. "You haven't even had sex yet and you wanna meet his friends-"

"Actually we did sleep together." The lie tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can catch it and once the words are out there, taking it back is like putting toothpaste back into the bottle. Utterly impossible.

"You… what?" Sohee's sunshine smile begins to falter and it's only then that you think you might have made a very grave mistake.

"What are you talking about?" A gasp so small but so incredibly audible wrenches itself from your throat when he bolts up from the couch. Never did you think your best friend could ever exhibit any emotions besides a near constant state of joy. Seeing him so disturbed has you feeling disturbed and perhaps you wanted to step back, but his hand is locked firmly around your wrist.

"You let him..." Sohee breaks eye contact. The boy looks like his entire world is being flipped over, "No, you wouldn't..." he shakes his head. "He probably forced himself on you, didn't he?" Your eyes widen as you watch the boy you knew begin to spiral further and further. Deeper and deeper. "Fuck, I saw how pushy he was with you the other day and I didn't do anything-"

"Sohee. Seunghan didn't-"

His hands leave your wrist to cup the sides of your face, bringing your words to a startling halt in the back of your throat. His gaze is so intense, it's as if his big eyes have the power to break you apart.

"Tell me he did it." Sohee's voice is raising and your nerves are shot to hell, "You wanna tell me the only way you had sex with Seunghan was because he made you do it… but if that's not the case-" His voice comes down from his high crescendo as he says, "Then you were being a slut all on your own."

This was not the time for you to be having even the vaguest of obscene thoughts, but your best friend of endless years has just called you a slut with such genuine conviction and his words had travelled straight to your clit. A deep warmth descends over your face, perhaps from being scolded by him so cruelly. By someone you wouldn't think even has the capabilities of speaking up in a dense crowd.

Your legs nearly give out under you, and when Sohee does a very daring thing, when he lowers his face in between your neck just as he'd seen Seunghan do, you nearly topple all the way to the ground.

Nearly.

"Tell me you didn't do anything," he pouts as his lips skim against your sensitive skin. You have no idea what to do with your hands, your arms, your face or your feet and so you let him nuzzle his nose into you, while your heart beats erratically.

"Tell me you weren't being a little slut-"

"F-Fuck Sohee," the moan that's slips past your lips surprises you both. And Sohee is quick to pull away from you as if your skin caught fire. His eyes are wide and they only grow wider when they meet your heavy lidded gaze. Completely overturned with lust.

What the hell did he just do?

"F-Fuck, I'm s-sorry, I-" But you're already pressing your lips against his, your arms finding purchase over his shoulders and pulling him impossibly closer. Sohee immediately whimpers against your lips while his hands sink into the softness of your curves. It's a rabid, fierce kiss that has Sohee pushing his tongue in prematurely. You find yourself not minding all that much. In fact, his eagerness only succeeds in getting you even wetter than you already were.

"Fuck, I need you so bad-" The words flowing from your mouth are music to his very ears. When you pull away, Sohee's face is bathed in red.

"You can't say stuff like that," he whispers before reattaching his lips to the side of your mouth. Now that he had you, he'd be damned if he let you get away. He'd be damned if he didn't mark up every single bit of skin available to him.

"Don't stop," your hands find purchase in his short, dyed hair before mindlessly pushing the boy back onto the couch.

He watches with swollen, open lips as you crawl up into his lap, your sundress gathering at your hips as you straddle him.

Sohee looks down and catches the faintest glimpse of your lace underwear before immediately looking back up, as if he were looking at something he was not supposed to see. Beside his naivete being so incredibly cute, it awakens a burning warmth in the pit of your stomach that only makes you needier for him.

"Look at me, Sohee," You whisper as you splay gentle kisses across his collarbone. "You need to look at me," hesitantly, Sohee's eyes drag their way to you, just in time to watch you lift the dress up over your head. His lungs are vacuumed shut and Sohee's fingers sink painfully into your ample thigh straddling his hips as you discard the dress and your bra over your shoulder.

"This can't be real," Sohee whispers when you lift his hand to place it gently against your breasts and their puckered nipples. He immediately readjusts himself underneath you. A deeply embarrassing attempt at hiding the way his hips buck up against your core.

His neediness spurs on your arousal.

You tip your head back when you pull Sohee's head against your breasts. His lips latch onto your nipples and a dazzling, choked moan runs out of your throat. The most beautiful fucking sound he's ever heard.

"Sohee-oh my God," You're grinding mindlessly against his stiff bulge while he sucks fervently, caught in the throes of your own pleasure.

"Oh-God, you're gonna make me cum-" Your quiet moans only spur him on, and Sohee brings his other hand up to tweak your other nipple as he continues to suck while you rut against him. His cock is leaking precum and his limbs are shaking from trying by all means to stop himself from cumming before you do. When you slip into your orgasm you scream his name. Not Seunghan's, or anyone else's...

He couldn't even begin to describe it. Watching you come down from you high, flushed and chest rising and falling, felt like a fucking priveledge.

"I lied," you slip out, "I didn't have sex with Seunghan." You crawl up off his lap slowly and Seunghan's narrowed eyes follow you with scepticism. "I know- it was stupid and I just felt like you were judging me and-"

"Oh my fucking God, don't ever do that again!" Sohee places a hand on his heart as he physically deflates. Unbeknownst to him, the sneakiest smile flits it's away across your face.

"It's almost like you were jealous or something?" Between the teasing tone in your voice and the fact that you were kneeling right in front of him, rubbing against his sweater clad thigh, Sohee did not know where to place his focus. He felt himself slipping into that very needy state right before your eyes, and you were all too pleased to watch it happen.

"I wasn't..." his words ebb away into a wavering exhale when you bring your hand to the waistband of his sweats, politely urging them down just enough to place your hand over the rock hard bulge in his pants. He still hasn't cum yet and he's all too aware of it now.

"I wasn't-"

"What was that?" You're kneeling in front of him now. Dipping your head down as if you would dare let your mouth make contact.

"I wasnt jealous- F-FUCK,"

You had done quick work of pulling his cock out, letting Sohee roll his head back, careful to still keep his half lidded eyes on you.

He watches with bated breath and a helplessly pained expression as you bow your head over his shaft and spit.

"Oh my God," the second your spit connects your mouth to the head of his cock he's absolutely done for; rolling his hips up intermittently, hoping for at least the faintest bit of friction again.

"Please, please, please-" His voice breaks in between his begging and your smile only widens, "I've w-waited for so long?"

"You've thought about me like this?" You cock your head to the side as you begin to pump Sohee's cock ever so slowly. "You've been having bad thoughts about me, Sohee?"

"F-Fu- c-could you just-" He attempts to lift his hips up, guiding his glistening cock through the palm of your hand but you don't budge.

"So you were jealous then?" Sohee visibly deflates at the egotistical conviction in your voice.

You wanted to make him say it.

"Just admit that-"

"I was jealous, Okay! Fuck- I thought you could already tell!" He whines, motioning down at his aching cock leaking precum. His head rolls backwards when you resume your stroking and pick up the pace. "G-God, I've wanted you f-or so long," he can barely keep his words in his mouth and the words that do slip out, are sloppy and messy.

Sohee runs his hand through his hair as he watches you bow your head over his lap. He is utterly transfixed. So transfixed he doesn't even register that his mouth is hanging open, his tongue lolling out slightly. "D-Dont-"

His cock twitches the second your mouth encloses around the head of his cock and he's pushing you down by your head, eliciting a surprising yelp from you. "m'Sorry! m'so, so sorry, you just feel so good," Sohee clenches his teeth as he rams his cock into your mouth, and you take all of him. You take him so fucking well.

"Where can I cum?!" He manages to ask in a strained, tense voice and you lift your head like lightning, still furiously stroking his cock.

"Wherever you want."

His eyes shoot to the back of your skull and Sohee only manages to quickly reply, "O-On your tits," before you're pressing your boobs together, allowing him to shoot his load all over your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, he really does. But the little he's able to see before the pleasure takes over him completely is enough for Sohee to replay in his mind for decades.

"O-h my God," he exhales, before finally slumping back in his seat, "F-Fuck,"

You stare down at the mess he's made all over your chest, quickly promoting Sohee to do the same...

"Uh- I'm sorry-"

"Apologise one last time and you won't get to cum next time."

Sohee swallows thickly. Those two words ring louder in his ear than anything else you said: Next time.

#lee sohee x reader #lee sohee x you #lee sohee smut #sohee x reader #sohee smut #lee sohee #sohee #riize fluff #riize x reader #riize smut #riize imagines #seunghan x you #seunghan x reader

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sapphicseasapphire · 2 months

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Miscellaneous Cryptid au lore bits that are too short/too specific to make it into individual posts!

If you want more information about any of these, feel free to ask! I’m always willing to ramble about my Little Guys haha!

(In no particular order)

• Sky’s wings are too big to fit through doors. He will 100% for sure run into people in a crowded street. Because of this, he stays behind when the others go to villages. This gets incredibly lonely for our friendly little bird boy so eventually it’s decided that someone has to stay with him. This leads to one on one bonding between Sky and everyone in the Chain! (Except Time)

• Four can control water, earth, fire, and air, but not particularly well. Jack of all trades is a master of none. That being said, each individual color is a master of their element, so when separated, they are a FORCE to be reconned with. Their diminished power as a whole is a huge source of frustration for them, but I can’t let them be too powerful.

• After the their adventure is over, Time lives out the rest of what would have been his mortal life with Malon, then he takes care of his children, and his children’s children. But eventually he’s just… lived too long. His humanity falls away and he becomes more and more of a God and stops interacting with mortals almost entirely. Except when the other Links are born in their own eras, Time looks after them Father Time style and if they fall, he rewinds to before they were injured (their last “save point”) and pushes them to a better path. (Game over. Continue?)

• Even if someone is born with the blood of a God, their powers need to be awakened. This usually happens in a moment of desperation. For example, during Time’s adventures, he meddled with the flow of time so much that it became his dominion. Twilight’s powers awakened when he was like two years old. His parents had been killed by monsters- monsters that were now looking for him. And in his desperation, he looked to a squirrel in the tree above and he copied it. The monsters lost track of him, ignoring the animals of the forest. Time was gifted, well… time… because against a falling moon, it was his last hope. Twilight was gifted shape shifting because he had no other chance of survival.

^ Hylia doesn’t count because she was one of the original Goddesses. Many of the Zeldas, while they do possess the blood of the Goddess, have not had their awakening. Yet.

• Warriors will sometimes blurt out random sets of data without being prompted. He’ll ask to run calculations on things that no one has ever asked him to. And while the others might find this confusing, it’s his way of expressing his interests. Of learning more about the things that he likes, of telling people about the things that he likes. This happens rarely, but when it does, Sky drops EVERYTHING to talk with him, so excited to see him opening up.

• The Legend of the Godkiller is a very idealized and not very accurate retelling of Sky’s final battle against Demise. It paints him as a very confident, willing knight of the Goddess. Full of righteous anger and absolutely thrumming with power. In the story that Time knows, Sky wasn’t even scared. He knew he was capable of killing Demise, and he wasn’t even surprised when he was cursed. This is… far from the truth.

• Yeah, Time knows about Sky’s curse. But what’s he gonna do? Confront him about it? Tell the others? And risk drawing the wrath of the Godkiller? Absolutely not.

• Wild is more sentient than he lets on. He understands more than the others might think. He’s a little chaos gremlin who gets so easily distracted and acts more like a wild animal than a person, but he’s very smart. He couldn’t do long division but he can tell that… something’s not right with Sky and the Master Sword. The others haven’t caught on yet.

• Wild KNOWS THINGS. That he SHOULDN’T.

• Hyrule is so incredibly timid by nature. He’s used to being hunted: first as a fairy, sought for his healing magic, and then because of his blood curse, sought by monsters to bring about the revival of Ganon. Because of this, he’s incredibly shy. Until one of his companions gets hurt!! Then he’s ALL BUSINESS and he speaks with the authority that one might expect from a fairy so powerful.

• Speaking of that! At first, no one knew he was a fairy! He was afraid that they’d bottle him (they had other bottled fairies in their pouches when he’d first met the others, so it was justified). He kept up his glamour until he physically couldn’t anymore. The others knew he was a magic user- he tended to fight less with a sword and more with his spells and had an affinity for healing, but they didn’t know JUST how powerful he was until his glamour fell apart.

• Hyrule’s glamour can change the way that people see things, but it cannot change the physical shape of something. (Except himself, because his body is mostly magic anyway). For example, he could hide Four’s horns, but if you were to touch the top of Four’s head, you’d still feel them! He can make Wild look like a Hylian, but that doesn’t make their antennae go away. This is why Sky can’t go into towns: his wings may be invisible, but they’re still there, they can still feel pain and can still bump into people and walls. So… he can’t fit, unfortunately.

• The best swimmer (aside from Legend, Ravio, and Wind) is Sky. Which is weird, right? One might think that those massive wings would slow him down. But he has the Water Dragon’s Scale! Everyone’s so surprised when he starts racing people and WINNING. When he jumps out of the water in a spiral spin. Legend can call him a cheater all he wants, but he’ll be a hypocrite for it. He can’t say anything about using magic items to bolster abilities.

• Legend and Wind go from enemies to best friends in the course of like a month. They bond over a war and the ocean, and their connection is strengthened by the conflict that they’re both familiar with. Honestly a big reason that Legend warms up to Wind is that Ravio is fond of him. Also it’s actually impossible to hate Wind. Also he went to Outset that one time and was ablel to better understand Wind’s perspective.

• Wind dies a little bit inside every time Aryll or his grandma call themselves a Sea Monster. But he doesn’t have the heart to correct them.

• Ravio was never really afraid of Wind himself. More so… afraid of the monster that he had the potential to be (Ku). When Wind was never corrupted, Ravio had no reason to hate him! So they became friends during the War of Eras.

• Ravio joins the Chain very late. But we love him anyway.

• Twilight has little nicknames for everyone. If he calls them by their actual name/their title, they’re in trouble.

• Four only splits around Sky, Warriors, Hyrule and Twilight at first. Actually, the first person they split in front of was Sky but that was an accident. Once they determine that it’s safe, they start doing it around the others… slowly but surely…

• Post God Reveal, Legend and Four join Sky in the “distrust Time” corner

• Time wields Wars’ sword because Wars has deemed him the most powerful. Because of this, Warriors will go with Time when their adventure comes to an end. (This way, neither of them have to face eternity alone).

• I know I made a whole big long post about what happens to Mer if they don’t soak, but I neglected to say that all that will happen to Aquili too, just to a lesser extent. Wind needs to soak as well, just not as often as Legend and Ravio do.

• Mer cannot assume their natural form if they have anything on their legs/feet where their tail would go. Ravio’s… not wearing anything under his robes. And Legend… isn’t wearing anything under his skirt. Being barefoot definitely isn’t ideal but it’s better than the alternative: being unable to soak and drying out. Now, they could simply remove their shoes/pants, but they’re traveling and often in battle and they don’t always have the time to shed their clothes. If they need to jump into the water? They jump into the water.

• During Legend’s adventures, him being Mer was a secret. (The Zora were already antagonistic- imagine what they’d do if they knew he was a war mongering Mer!) This is why he needed flippers or a magic item to be able to swim- something on his feet or something magically imbued to keep him from transforming.

• For Sky, Link and Aepon are generally completely fused, but there are certain events that can force an imbalance between their influence over him. For example, if he’s hurt and takes a heart potion for healing, the body is healed, his Link half is healed, but is Aepon half is still weakened. The others might notice that he acts differently after taking a potion and he just seems very… unwell. Distressed, panicked. But also, he has both Aepon dreams and Link dreams. And depending on their frequency and severity, they can affect how he acts when he wakes, at least until both halves are sufficiently awake.

• When Sky’s Aepon half is more dominant, he is actually legitimately a bird. He doesn’t speak, he just chirps and squawks and trills like a bird. He looses all sense of personal space. And he’ll LOOSE IT if his feathers are touched.

• Sky can’t see well at night but he has a much greater endurance for looking at bright things.

• Hyrule hangs out around Sky as much as he can because Sky can’t take heart potions and also his bones are literally hollow and can break a lot easier than the others’

• Hyrule is a GIFT to this world and I don’t draw him enough.

I have a LOT MORE to say about these guys but this is just off the top of my head right now. Also I don’t want to spoil story elements! But let me know if you have any questions or want more context! I have short stories written about like half of these.

#the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #cryptid lore #cryptid ravio #cryptid twilight #cryptid wind #cryptid warriors #cryptid sky #cryptid time #cryptid wild #cryptid four #cryptid legend #links meet au

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darlingofvalyria · 7 months

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An abandoned church made most of broken wood and whimpering winds becomes a momentary resting sanctuary for Uhtred and his men— Osferth finds himself with a crooked root in the shape of a hand, a gold ring, and a full, blue moon.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ COCK WORSHIP, ORGASM DENIAL ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,830 ] [ masterlist ] | Osferth x Ghost Bride!Reader

contains— smut, fluff, angsty-ish - corpse bride!au - this is not the N word okay, you're a ghostly being that becomes corporeal. it's monsterfucking, not that kind of filth - no use of y/n - mentions of christianity lol - dillusioned!reader (if you know the movie, you know) - mention of character death - nsfw: sort of dubcon, smidge coercion, cock worship, orgasm denial(?) - no betas.

a/n— ok, but i am actually very proud of this one!! i enjoyed writing this way too much, adding a bit of comedy aspect to it shdhs. i hope you enjoy it!! oh, also this is the vibe you want if you wanna listen. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

His pack rests behind him, the couple of bundled furs he uses for bedding has hardened into the cold ground, not at all aiding his sleep. Around him, his lord and the rest of the men had managed to fall into their dreams, almost as soon as they closed their eyes.

Even Finan, with a furrow in his brow and his arms crossed, has his head tilted awkwardly to one side that Osferth knows is going to be painful in the morning.

But sleep evades him, and though he scarcely believes in ghosts, resting in a church, no matter how abandoned, no matter that there's gaping, charred hole that has blown over the side of it, trickling the cold, winter winds and soft, wet snow— it feels odd.

It brings a restlessness and a comfort all the same, and with a few minutes more of staring at rotting wood and broken awning, Osferth sighs. Their small fire is dying, might as well get more dry sticks.

The church, though broken and ruined, offers warmth. Once he's out into the wintry night, the pale moonlight bright and full, glittering the wisps of fluffy snow as if you don't come out wet if you sink on it. It's cold. Much too cold to walk, to linger, but he continues. He winds to the other side, leisure in his pace, breathing in the cold whilst warming his hands with his mouth.

It's nice to find a rhythmic motion that empties his thoughts. It is nice to be out of Wessex, out of familiarity. Uhtred brought with him adventure and battle, honour and excitement. It quieted the wrought in his head... until night comes, and Osferth is left with the weight of all those he tries to bury.

He walks quite a bit, observing and carries a faint sadness for a few graves that are left. Some opened, unearthed by grave robbers, uncaring of the Christian faith. Wooden plaque holding no names, just crosses. He moves past, finding himself entering the forest before he could think through it until he comes across a clearing. It's surprisingly, perfectly circled, trees at the side adjusted like soldiers with a curled root at the centre.

Curious and kind of awed at nature, at the wonder of the existence this little tree root, curled and cold, he dips one knee as flutters his fingers over it. The thin spindles look like curled fingers, a hand reaching in a hooked angle.

When he pushes his hand forward, curling his fingers against the root, Osferth makes a surprised hum at how fitted, how perfectly it holds like a hand against his.

Osferth doesn't notice you, dancing between the shadows and moonlight. Hit by light and you fade with it, more air and light yourself than life and physical flesh. You had seen him and his men find the scarred church and setup camp. The four men had not been the first to find the abandoned place, nor had taken refuge.

And time is everlasting when you're dead. Meaningless when there is no end to days and nights.

But he is different, you muse, watching him unable to sleep and walk and walk until he reached the clearing and your cold, dead heart feels a tug.

Does he know you? Is that why he is so different?

You slink between trees, hiding behind a trunk as you watch him kneel where your body lies, curious and awed, watching as he holds your hand, curling his fingers around your own.

Your left hand flexes, a surprised giggle falling from your lips and disappearing with the wind as you feel his warmth. His hand as if he is holding your own. Human touch fades from memory in a span of time and it is a pleasant hold.

Look down, you try to say, excitement you've never felt before, thrums through your body. Look down and see the ring!

If he does, you know do not need to know who he is. You know who he will be.

Look down, look down, look down! Please! you are practically screaming, jumping in the shadows as his eyes, beautiful blue like your favourite butterfly, is entranced by the glint underneath the snow. You hold your hands to your chest. Oh, please! Please, Please look down!

You exhale, feeling life sweep back into your mouth. There. There you are, you say soundlessly as he picks it up. A gold band worn with age but gold it still is. He twists it around, and though others have tried to steal it, pocket it and sell it, you know he is different. His warmth is different. There is kindness in his eye that you like.

And God, is he pretty. You would not mind at all being his bride.

You're on one knee, now propose, you say, willing the vows of old and binding to reach his ears. He twists it and as if playfully entranced, he mutters the words that you echo back in the shadows.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows," Osferth murmurs, the words he's listened once as a young boy, hearing the priest anoint two lovers who had escaped to bond their love. "Your cup shall never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness."

He raises the ring and places it on your crooked, dried fourth finger— and you inhale air, wintry and cold and so, so alive for the first time in a very long time.

"And with this ring," he says.

"I ask you to be mine," you finish, startling Osferth as you glide toward him. Triumphant. He stumbles, falling on his bum as your arms widen around you in all your ghostly bride attire and glory. "My love! I have waited for you for such a long time. Good thing the ice and winters have been kind to my body and you still manage to find it!"

Though in truth, you had plowed against hard ground to at least unearth your left hand while most of your body had been abandoned. Your skull had cracked in three places, and there's a worm who made a permanent home in your dried liver. But your new husband does not need to know that.

He gapes at you, wide eyed and unblinking, and just as he starts you yell? Shriek— You stumble to him, falling on his lap as you press your hands against his mouth. When you don't pass through him, you let out an excited shriek.

"Oh, my apologies, I don't mean to scare you!" You pout, aged old sadness wisps beneath your eyes. "Please don't scream, my love. I have waited for you for so long. And you're so warm... and so real."

As shock permeates his face, frozen under the feel of you pressing against him— there is weight, he can feel you. You're not as warm as him, cold in fact, and he is able to see through you if his eyes adjust well enough. But you are there. He can see you and he can feel you. Your wide, unblinking eyes drinking him in, exuberant smile composed of pretty lips and a mesmerising happiness. Your hair cascades around a ruined, fluttering veil with dead flowers atop your head.

But by God, you are beautiful.

Your wedding dress— because you are a bride, are you not? Were a bride, Osferth's head is starting to ache from trying to look through and at you — are in tatters and holes, showing more of your skin than what your dress initially thought to show and he swallows. He can see a creamy thigh exposed through a slash. It doesn't help that you're bent over, resting between his legs, and he can see the top of your breasts.

On your end, your hands are just there, on his face, and you start exploring his pretty visage. His warmth is addicting, gliding your fingers through his nose and pretty cheekbones, tickling yourself on his lashes with the pads of your fingers and you giggle. The sound makes Osferth exhale shakily before you are cupping his sharp jaw and your fingers touch his lips, your own mouth turning into an 'O'.

Oh, they're soft and a little chapped, a little cold, but his exhale entrances you. His show of pure, breathing life is tantalising.

You lean in closer, nearly touching his lips with your own as you try to inhale his air. He smells of smoked meat and dried ale. Winter woods and burnt campfire. Your hands drift from his mouth to his neck, to his chest. His heart. There in your palms, you press tight. A quickened heartbeat nestles beneath and you exhale, smiling ruefully.

"My husband." Osferth's eyes widen at the pure adoration and lust in your gaze. "You are wonderful. My wait is worth it."

"Hold on, l-lady." He captures your hands in his, eyebrows furrowed. He swallows as he can feel you both corporeal and wispy. If shadows can be held, he thinks it would feel like this. "H-How am I your husband? Sorry, I've— I don't even know your name!"

What's more is that you're a ghost! But something in his head tells him not to speak aloud such a thing, for another, he isn't sure he hasn't fallen back in the encampment with the others. A bizarre dream of a very pretty, ghostly bride is for one an embarrassing topic to broach.

"Oh. That's right!" You giggle happily, offering your name and Osferth tests in his tongue. A pretty name for a pretty bride. "What's yours? Though, I'm afraid I prefer to call you husband, and would prefer to be called your wife. Or 'your love'."

At another helpless, tinkling laughter, Osferth blushes. Your eyes are distracted by the colour in his cheeks, so long ago contained your own but no more, that you take your hands from his and start petting the rosy tint again. He's so warm that you start nuzzling into him, your head burrowing into his neck.

"O-Osferth." He clears his throat to get your attention. "Osferth, lady."

"My wife."

"Sorry?"

You start to pout. "Call me 'my wife'."

Osferth starts to shake his head. "Lady, I really don't—"

"I am your wife now. See." You sit up, pointing back to your dead hand, gold ring glinting under the pale moon. "You've made your vows and given me the ring. We're married now." Your gaze darkens, your form shimmering and Osferth yelps as you had gotten ice cold. "You have made your vow, Osferth. Are you telling me you do not honour your vows? Are you a man without honour? Is there another... woman?"

Your hands on his face sharpened, like ice, digging through his skin as iff trying to embedded yourself into his skull. He cries out, taking your wrists.

"No, no! I— yes, I am your husband now. I am. There is also no other woman!"

You cock your head, still frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm wearing monk's robes, lad— wife," he says helplessly.

"But..." You cock your head to the side. "You don't seem too shock of a woman's body. You're very responsive to me, my love, I enjoy it quite so."

This time, he blushes deeply. "I— Goodness, okay. I've had practice... s'all."

"With... whores?"

He cringes, waiting for you to turn mad, pure ice cold and tear through his skin like you almost did, but you only hum when he nods.

"That is alright. That presents more of a challenge than an obstruction of our love."

"Challenge?" he asks as you gently push him on his back, straddling his hips. You slide your palms up and down his torso almost as if he is a campfire and you are warming your hands.

He swallows at your confident grin before you blow him a kiss and he exhales a laugh, his mind truly unconnected from his body because there is a ghostly woman on top of him, adoring him with flirtations, and he is stirring in his pants.

Truly, he must be deep asleep, in a more awkward position than Finan.

If I am, he thinks watching you with a blossoming attachment. Please, by God, don't wake me.

With a seductive intent, you slide down from his body, making sure you pay a special wiggle in his tenting manhood that he feels a lightning bolt from his cock to the ends of his nerves. He doesn't truly understand what you intend until you've unlaced him and paying special attention to his now, semi-erect appendage.

Osferth is red and sputtering, unable to find the strength to stop you.

You get your face impossibly close to his manhood, your unbridled attention makes his cock inflate until you test a teasing finger from beneath, circling his balls, up and up until you tease the slit and his hips jolt.

"G-God, Oh goodness," he spits, white knuckling his woolen coat. "Please do something. D-Don't just—shit." You test a tongue, laving the underside of his cock until pearly white essence beads from his slit and you lick it experimentally. It tastes salty, inexcusably human and alive, and you decide you like it, especially when you watch Osferth writhe, unable to decide what to do from such teasing little touches.

"Good thing for you husband, your wife made sure to serve a keen listen to gossiping wives behind the church after mass. Well before the raid burnt it all down." You got yourself comfortable between his thighs, loving how snugged you fit against his warmth here, as well as having a beautiful of view of your Osferth. "They spoke salaciously of what keeps their husbands to their beds."

You give him a wink as you enclose your hand on his cock, giving it a firm tug and he chokes. "To keep the whores away." You start slow and teasing, wanting to see what movements pleased him the most, what made him sigh and groan, jolt, hips chasing the feeling of your hand that started to warm and get wet, both from his excitement and the teasing licks you give.

When he started panting, you took your hand away. His head bobs back adorably at you, frowning. "W-Wife? Wha—" But you don't let him finish, sitting up on your hunches as you replace your hand with your mouth, feeling the stretch as he throws his head back again, neck arched. It doesn't hurt, momentarily uncomfortable as you test the feeling of it, the weight now so full in your mouth before you start moving up and down, eased by the slick and guided by his pretty sounds.

And Osferth has been on the brink of peak multiple times, but you kept stopping or slowing midway. At first, he surmised it must be your first time, unused to a man in your mouth but eager to give him pleasure, which he can't help but feel deep fondness for.

By the third peek he's been deprived off, and the little smirk playing on your lips, he realised the truth. But your mouth is a different story. It's hot and heady, just like a real mouth and his stomach is clenching, his pleasure tightening that he's got tears in his eyes, apologising as his hips chase his high in your throat but by the rumble that rocked his cock, it seems as if you were trying to tell him it was okay.

When you started massaging his stones, he was gone. White hot pleasure broke behind his eyelids that he grabbed your head, your veil and hair, dead flowers falling into light as he came, hips stuttering, before holding you down until the last drop of his spend is in your mouth.

He releases you with apologies, chest heaving with tears in his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, lady, I— inexcusable." He stared gently cleaning your face, unable to realise how much more solid you had become, how much more colour bled in your ghostly blue.

But as you sit back up, you're grinning, unmistakable pride in your gaze as he wipes the corner of your mouth tenderly. You take his fingers before he wipes it on his trousers, coated in him, and licks them clean, sucking hard with a little giggle.

"Good boy," you say. Osferth shudders, his cock already painfully stirring once more.

The Lord have mercy on him. Were there ghostly vixens? Did he marry the only ghostly vixen?

He can't say he's too mad about it.

"Hmm. So that's what it tastes like. I think I like it." You smile, rubbing his thigh. "I also think we are going to have a fruitful marriage, sweet Osferth. What we only need now is one thing..."

He blinks at you. "Hm?"

"Death, my love." You blink back at him owlishly, snapping the dagger strapped to his side. "How can we stay together when one of us breathes?"

Christ, I already have an idea for part two...

#osferth #osferth x reader #osferth x you #osferth fanfic #kinktober 2023 #osferth smut #osferth fluff #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #tlk smut #tlk fluff #︶꒦꒷♡ elle tries kinks ♡꒷꒦︶#elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#the last kingdom #tlk #osferth scenario #ewan mitchell characters

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magnusbae · 4 months

Note

look, I'm a basic bitch, I see “only one bed” on a prompt list, I send asks begging for dreamling fics

xo @hardly-an-escape

Listen, I am so not cheating, despite my not being active in the dreamling for a while, I am going by oRDER. Thank you so much for the message dear, I hope you're well 🥰💖

Dreamling || 402w || lil silly au lol :)

▾▾▾

''There's only one bed.'' Hob shakes his head in disbelief, the apologetic staff who had informed that there’s been a mistake with their room had tactfully omitted this part from her apologies.

Dream doesn’t seem to be as perturbed by the hotel’s mix-up, nor does he look like he’s about to throw a fit the way Hob half expected him to. He shrugs, a minor movement of his shoulders, and walks in to sit down on said bed. He doesn’t look worried, instead he flips his phone open and scrolls through what Hob assumes to be his work emails.

In fact, he seems a little too fine to Hob’s taste.

“You do realize that it means we’ll have to share? I’m not sleeping on the floor nor the bathtub, if that’s the crazy idea you’ve got up that pretty head of yours.” If it was anyone else, Hob wouldn’t have to clarify. Given the fact that this is Dream, or professionally known— Morpheus, he feels the need to make absolutely sure that he understands the situation.

That he, the CEO of his family’s business, is about to share a bed with the IT guy he decided to drag along for this trip. (Why?)(He did not deem anyone worthy of an explanation.) Hob feels that perhaps the great pay was worth skipping over, if only for the icy look he gets from Dream when he lowers his phone, looking perfectly unimpressed.

“That is glaringly obvious, Robert.” He says his full name with a roll of his tongue, a thing that doesn’t fail to make Hob’s skin itch. He used to think it was anger, but lately… he’s not that sure about it.

“Great, sure. Just making sure” he wipes his hands over his pants in a quick motion, looking around the room to not think about how he’ll be sharing bed with the guy he lowkey, highey, all keys wanted to fuck for the longer half of the past year. Bloody hell and heaven. God help him.

“Clearly” Dream rolls his eyes, in that implied manner of his, looking up briefly before he is glued back to his phone. What a pretty, annoying, horrible bitch. Hob is absolutely fucked.

“I’m hitting the shower first.” he doesn’t wait for the answer, escaping Dream’s company out of sheer self preservation. This is going to be a long trip indeed. God help him indeed…

#Yours truly been awake for more hours than is proper xD #I did read through this once but it's possible the tiredness would bleed through by this point grfaethbateh #Dreamling #Dreamling fic #The sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream #hob #buns.w #buns.all #msg #hardly-an-escape

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ideas-4-stories · 23 days

Note

Cross Guild AU Romance Prompt: Mermaid Shifter AU where devil fruit users can still swim, everyone can shift into their mermaid or man form. Buggy is part of a pod with his crew and they live together in this wonderful reef. They all have these wonderful tails that fit their personalities, while Buggy's is extra special in that his is this bright white with these pearly scales and fins that no one else has. Yet his is not the rarest tail, the rarest tails are the black tails, and they belong to Mihawk and Crocodile, who live in the shadowy area beyond Buggy's reef. They guard everyone in Buggy's reef, but stay aloof and distant. No one goes near Mihawk and Crocodile's shadowy territory. One day Buggy hears a commotion or sees something off in the shadowy territory. Against his better judgement, Buggy swims to the area and is horrified when he sees Mihawk and Crocodile in a life and death struggle with a wicked looking sea creature, like a sea king or a kracken. Mihawk is fighting hard but Crocodile's hurt. With bravery he didn't even know he had, Buggy joins the fight and actually feeds one of his muggy balls to the creature and blows it up. He gets knocked out cold in the process. When he wakes up, he'd in the dark castle like reef Mihawk and Crocodile call home. The moment Buggy is coherent, his only concern is Mihawk and Crocodile, seeing to their wounds and even swimming out to get specially sea plants and anemones known for their healing properties. Mihawk and Crocodile are stunned when Buggy comes back with his arms full and sets about grinding up everything and treating them with tenderness they've never ever experienced before. This little red nosed white tail captured the hearts of Mihawk with his black and red tail and Crocodile with his black and purple tail and they mean to keep him. Mihawk and Crocodile try to intimidate Buggy, only for Buggy to yank them both with him out of their shadowy reef to his vibrant, colorful one, first for lunch, then the next day for dinner, then again and again until Mihawk and Crocodile are no longer the distant guardians in the shadows, but Buggy's badass mates.

Mermaid Shifter AU is quite interesting, I like that everyone has tails that match their personalities. I wonder types of tails that Cabaji, Mohji, Alvida, Galdino, and Daz have… OH! Richie can be a catfish or lionfish I don’t know.

Question, Mihawk and Crocodile has other colors on their tail, does Buggy have colors other than white?

I like to think Buggy having a clownfish-style tail, that’s probably from all the times in the past that I’ve seen Buggy being a mermaid and he had a clownfish-style tail and stuff. There are clownfish that are mostly white with tips being orange and/or black.

Is the shadowy part of the reef like Kuraigana Island? I really hope so, does that mean there’s fruitwanis or animals much like the humandrills there?

I’m just have so many ideas running through my head. Anyway, Buggy helping Crocodile and Mihawk fight off the kracken (I don’t why I like that better as the enemy) When you wrote ‘actaully feeds one of his muggy balls to the creature’ all I can imagine is Buggy shoving it down it’s throat and didn’t get out of the way in time.

Buggy waking up and only thinking about Mihawk and Crocodile (My heart! So cute and sweet!) I feel like he’s ignoring his own wounds, swimming out to grab the healing plants (probably went out with a gasp or something that makes Crocodile and Mihawk thinking he wouldn’t come back, BUT HE DID COME BACK!) Buggy coming back, treating them with such tenderness that both wouldn’t think of (MY HEART!)

Not the two trying to intimidate Buggy, as soon as both know they want him! Good for Buggy to yank them back to his reef. Buggy must of been quite scared but Mihawk and Crocodile need doctors help to make sure those wounds don’t get infected. Then going out for lunch, then the next day for dinner, what about the day after breakfast?

That must of been a shock for everyone, I see their faces now.

I feel like the shadowy reef would be added into Buggy’s domain now as how the colorful reef is now apart of Crocodile and Mihawk’s domain. Afterall they are mates in the end.

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ladytauria · 6 months

Note

Would you consider writing 13 and/or 18 from the prompt list for jaytim?

i would!! <3

i wrote them both bc i thought they worked very well together, though. i did change the wording of the second prompt to make it fit. (it is still bolded tho.)

i went through… 3 or 4 different concepts for this fic before i finally settled on reverse robins, bc i have been thinking about another reverse robins au (i blame @bi-bats). this is not that au, but instead a different one which ran away with me as soon as i got into the flow of writing it <3

there is also a part in it that is inspired by something @deepwithintheabyss said in a chat once. (which i’ll clarify in the tags & end notes on ao3 lol).

ANYWAY. this is more in the gen/pre-slash vein as it technically covers tim & jason’s first time actually meeting / speaking to each other, &. as it ran away with me the way it did, probably kind of messy? ^^; but i hope you like it, nonny, & thank you very much for the prompt!

It isn’t very often that Tim comes across Robin. Both Batman and Nightwing do their best to keep them separate and—so far at least—the little Robin hasn’t made an attempt to circumvent their efforts. Except tonight, though he has a feeling that the little bird didn’t necessarily mean for their paths to cross.

He’s sitting in an alley; canary yellow cape wrapped around his body. Tim drops, silent, from the roof, landing six feet from him. This close, he can see the tremors wracking his frame.

“Robin,” he says.

Robin flinches, hard; nearly smacking his head back against the brick. Guilt rises in Tim’s throat. There are shiny tears trailing down his cheeks, though the white-outs of his domino are still down. Tim feels the moment Jason’s eyes lock on him.

He immediately shifts into a non-threatening stance. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, holding up his hands, fingers spread wide.

“Hood?” Robin’s voice wobbles.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says; crouching down to Robin’s level. “Are you alright?” There’s a mild strain of fear toxin being sold right now. Tim’s been working on tracking down the source, but so far, all of his leads have led him to dead ends. Could Robin have been hit with a dose? That would explain his upset—maybe the lack of Batman, too.

Robin shivers. He draws his cape tighter around him. He shakes his head—though whether in answer or not Tim couldn’t say. He buries his face in his knees again, muffling a soft sob.

Tim’s chest twists. “Do you want me to call—”

Robin’s head jerks up again. “No!” he says, immediately, the desperation in his voice nearly knocking Tim back. “Please, please don’t—”

“Okay,” Tim says, gentling his voice. He doubts it does much with the voice modulator in the way. “Okay, I won’t call anyone.” He bites his lip. He can’t leave him here. Whatever’s happened, whether it’s fear toxin or not, it’s affected him deeply. “Do you feel safe enough to come with me?” He offers his hand.

Robin stares at it, biting his lip. Then he nods, taking Tim’s hand. His grip is tight—almost too much so.

They rise to their feet together.

“I’ll call my bike,” Tim says, still in that gentle tone. “Do you think you can hold on?” The hand not holding Tim’s is still clutching his cape, holding it around himself. He’s still shivering. Even the fingers in Tim’s hand are trembling.

Robin nods. “Y-yeah.”

He gives his hand a squeeze. He hopes it’s reassuring. Then he pulls out his keys and presses the button that will summon his bike to them. It takes less than ten minutes for it to roll up to the mouth of the alley. Robin finally lets go of his hand when he goes to climb on the bike. As soon as Tim is settled, he climbs on behind him; his arms snug around Tim’s waist, his front plastered against Tim’s back.

Tim drives. Not to his Nest, but to one of the well-equipped safehouses he has on this end of the Narrows. As soon as they’re off the bike, Robin drifts close to him again; so close their arms are almost brushing. He walks them around to the alley. He offers an arm to Robin automatically, and though Robin’s own grappling hook—and the spare—sits on his hip, he steps into Tim’s arm, against his chest.

Tim is not a tall man. Despite that, and the fact that there are only three years between them, Robin barely comes up to his shoulder. Tim secures his grip on him, holding him close, and grapples up the fire escape.

When they land, Robin doesn’t move; staying pressed against Tim’s side, his forehead pressed to his shoulder. Tim doesn’t make him move. It’s easy enough to wrap both arms around him, let him stand within the circle of them as he disengages the security on the window.

Then he nudges him. “C’mon, Robin. Let’s get inside.”

A beat passes before Robin moves. Tim follows right behind him, re-engaging his security after he shuts the window. He pulls off his helmet with a soft, mechanical hiss, letting it dangle from his fingers. Robin has pulled his cape around him again. He stands, something almost unsure in the stance of his body.

“C’mon,” Tim says, laying a gentle hand on Robin’s back. He leans into it, but doesn’t resist when he walks them forward, until they reach the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us something to drink.” Something warm, preferably, but even just water or a sports drink would suffice.

Then he’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on here.

He finds some tea; one of the few herbal blends he keeps. He brews two cups. While he waits, he takes off his domino, gloves, and the most prominent of his weapons. Then he takes the cups to the living room. Like Tim, Robin has removed his gloves and domino, alongside his boots and gloves, leaving Jason Wayne sitting on his couch. His cape is wrapped around him again, and he’s tucked all of his limbs into it, curling into a ball so small he takes up only one of the couch cushions.

Tim’s chest pangs.

“Here,” he says, offering Jason the cup.

Jason takes it, both hands curling around it and pulling it to his chest. His eyes are rimmed with red.

Tim hesitates a moment—and then sits right next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jason melts into his side.

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“For what?” Tim asks, stroking Jason’s bicep with his thumb.

“Being difficult. I didn’t— I know you’d rather have called someone. I. I promise I won’t stay for long.”

Tim turns his head, tucking his nose into Jason’s curls. It’s not the most pleasant of smells—he smells like sweat, like Gotham night air. Under that, there’s a hint of soap. “You’re not being difficult, Jason,” he says gently, carefully. “And you can stay for as long as you need.”

Jason exhales slowly. “Thanks,” he says.

He doesn’t sound convinced. Tim tightens his arm. “I mean it. It’s not… I don’t mind having you here.” He doesn’t. He may not be on the best terms with the bats, but that animosity, that strain, doesn’t extend to Jason. He may not be happy that some other kid took on the cape he died in, but he could acknowledge that Bruce and Damian had learned from their mistakes. Jason patrolled far less than Tim ever had, and almost never on his own. He was kept away from the worst of the rogues, too. Most of his life was focused on the non-cape side of things; school and hobbies and friends, and, recently, working with the Martha Wayne Foundation.

Tim would have despised it.

Jason thrives.

And Tim admires what he’s accomplished. He’s a good Robin. A good person. The only reason he’s never reached out—

Well. Bruce and Damian barely tolerate his presence, reaching out only when there’s no other choice. Cass— He’s not sure she’ll ever forgive him for choosing this path. His relationships with Steph and Alfred may be fine, but the other three could easily make things difficult, and— Honestly. He has no idea what Jason has been told about him.

The way he’s curled against him suggests it may not be all bad.

There’s also his philosophy on vigilantism. He’s chosen a different path than the others; a path with far more blood and violence. It’s no secret that Jason has fought with Bruce about methodology before, and Tim— As tempting as it is, sometimes, to steal Batman’s partner right out from under him… Tim won’t make that worse. Spending time with him could very well fan those flames higher.

He’s not going to explain all of that right now. Or maybe ever. Instead he says, “My problems with Damian and Bruce have nothing to do with you. They would probably rather you avoid me—and that’s fine—but… you’re not unwelcome in my territory, or my safehouses,” he says. “If you need a place to go, back-up—you can call me.” He pauses. “And that goes for civilian life too. You need me, you call. I’ll answer.”

Jason twists. He presses his face against Tim’s shoulder. It can’t be comfortable—he’s still wearing his armor, a sturdy kevlar-weave. “Thanks,” he says, and his voice is watery again.

Tim moves his hand to cup the back of his head. He kisses Jason’s crown.

They stay like that until Jason pulls away.

By now the tea has cooled. When his cup is about half gone, he asks, “Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”

Jason bites his lip and shrugs. “I dunno. A lot,” he says, quietly. “Bruce an’ I are fighting again. About my mom.”

Tim hums. Steph has complained to him about Sheila Haywood more than once. He’s never met the woman himself, but from everything he’s heard—and looked into—he’s… not impressed, to put it mildly. “Sounds stressful,” he says.

“Yeah. He thinks— He says she’s taking advantage.” Jason sounds disgusted. “But— He doesn’t get it. She’s had a hard life. The system fucked her over, and she didn’t have the money to fight it. She just needs a little help, that’s all, and—” He cuts himself off. “I just wanna help her. Like I couldn’t help my other mom, the one that raised me. An’ it’s just— Every time I bring her up now, Bruce gets this pinched look on his face. Damian’s no help. Steph’s no help. Even Cass isn’t any help! I just— It sucks. An’ we fought about it again today.

“So I— Tonight, I told him I wanted to patrol on my own. Clear my head. ‘Cause he said I could now. An’ it was fine, it went fine, until. There was this robbery, an’ I guess— I guess they had that new fear toxin— an’... I just…

“What if he gets tired of fighting? What if— What if he— What if he decides that he doesn’t— My mom can’t. She can’t afford a kid right now, an’ I— Damian— He’s in this too, and Steph, an’—” He’s working himself up now, voice cracked and wavering, little hitching sobs threatening to burst with every word.

Tim puts his mug down—takes Jason’s, too. Jason lets it go without a fight. Then he pulls him into a hug; tight and all-encompassing, like he can shield him from all the hurt he’s feeling. “Bruce will never kick you out,” he says, voice quiet and sure. “He gave you his name, he signed the papers. You're his now, permanently. He’s not going to go back on that. It’s the same with Damian. You’re family to him now, and Damian— If he’s nothing else, he’s loyal to his bones. Steph adores you. Cass does too. Fighting— It’s not going to change that.” He pauses. “But if I’m wrong. If they kick you out, or— If you just can’t stay there anymore—

“You have a place with me.”

Jason sobs, then.

Tim holds him.

He’ll keep holding him—as long as he needs.

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itshype · 17 days

Text

Reverse Amnesia AU

(aka "Everyone lies except - for once - The Sheriff.) Sharing this old wyler prompt from Valentine's Day 2023 written with a few people but mostly @nonamemanga:

Wednesday pushes Donovan Galpin out of the way of Laurel's car after Laurel killed the coroner (before she actually runs Mayor Walker over), saving the Sheriff's life. The moment she pushes him, she gets a vision of Xavier calling her toxic in episode eight, so she then fails to get out of the way herself, and the car slams into her head-on.

Wednesday's a little woozy due to her head hitting the asphalt, but ultimately she's alright; just bumps and bruises. However, she's just disoriented enough that Donovan manages to bundle her into the police cruiser and rush her to the local hospital with the lights on. The siren does not help her headache from her profusely bleeding head wound. The Sheriff thinks she's seriously hurt and is totally panicking.

At the hospital, Donovan is brimming with guilt as he waits to hear from the doctors. He already felt kind of bad for arresting her and her whole family, and now she was seriously injured saving his life. Once he's allowed to, he approaches her in her hospital bed, hat in hands and he's nearly crying as he tells her:

"Wednesday, I know we've had our differences, but thank you, and if there's anything you need…"

And Wednesday panics, she can't deal with him trying to get his emotions all over her, so she immediately yells out, "I don't know you!!" in the hopes that a doctor will escort the 'strange man' out of her room. No one hears her but Donovan immediately assumes her head wound is worse than anyone thought and calls for nurses. Wednesday decides to run with this. She can pretend to have amnesia for a few hours and then once everyone is calmed down and she's not at risk of being cried on she can miraculously recover. The perfect plan.

Weems shows up (the hospital called her, Donovan forgot because he behaves like a lunatic in times of stress) and immediately begins fussing. Weems has the whackest priorities but doesn't actually wish her students any harm and there is a head wound. Wednesday reinforces her amnesiac defence so that Weems will stop trying to touch and comfort her.

Meanwhile, Tyler has received the following texts from his dad:

wEDnESdAy !!!

hospital

These texts are based on real ones I have received.

When he shows up at the hospital just to see what's going on, and hears what happened, it instantly twigs for him that: his master tried to murder his father, and that Wednesday is now about to be a real target because she actually stopped Laurel from doing something she wanted (I do not think there's any way Laurel told Tyler her whole Crackstone plan. He's a goon-puppet, not her equal) so Tyler doesn't know she will be kept alive for a while.

Tyler thinks he needs to stick around Wednesday now to protect her and that she has amnesia. So, he launches into a long lie about them secretly dating for "weeks now, really." so that he can stay until the nurses kick them out.

Wednesday is gobsmacked and a little suspicious that her ultra-vanilla not-boyfriend is lying about this, and that he's so good at it both Weems and Donovan are eating out of his hand. It's impressive. While Tyler coos about wishing she'd waited for him so he could have safely driven her home she plans to continue faking her amnesia until she figures out why Tyler would lie about them being together.

They've been there for a few hours when they get the call that Wednesday's parents won't drive down to visit because Morticia knows that Wednesday is fine, lying about the amnesia and only got hit because of a vision, not the epileptic fit that Donovan described to the doctors. Wednesday demands to go back to school, this hospital gown is blue, goddamn it. Wednesday knows her mother probably had a vision about the truth of what happened but everyone is heartbroken on Wednesday's behalf.

Enid, when Wednesday finally returns to her dorm with Tyler in tow and he explains about the amnesia, also decides to put a spin on their relationship. Declaring that they're best friends and "Of course I knew about the secret relationship!" she insists, while manically typing a blog post with one hand, "I'd never betray your trust and tell other people before you were ready, and when I planned your birthday party I definitely remembered to invite him, and not just other students you never hang out with! Sorry you don't remember but I did a good job!" She glares at Tyler when Wednesday looks away but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth as Enid is backing him up.

Wednesday is baffled.

Crack option: When asked by Enid about the car accident Wednesday says she "saw Xavier, and then the car hit her" in a purposefully misleading reference to the vision she had. Rumours of him pushing her never totally go away.

#reverse amnesia au #wyler #netflix's wednesday #wednesday #wednesday addams #tysday #mine

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cha-melodius · 7 months

Note

Oh my goodness, I've just seen your fic festival request post and am excited to sneak in to participate before it closes. I love your writing and your stories so very much!

My prompt suggestion is... firstprince in Edinburgh, Scotland... in particular, the Edinburgh pride parade (if I may be so oddly specific). AU welcome, canon welcome, makeouts welcome, ahem.

Thank you and good luck wrangling everyone's prompts!

(Firstly, I have to say I love your url and your profile pic! Secondly, this is heavier on the Pride and lighter on the Edinburgh as far as the details go, but I hope it delights. Inspired in part by a tweet shared on tumblr; rated M for dick jokes. Happy Bisexual Awareness Week!)

Something To Be Proud Of

(firstprince, 3.3k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Henry stares at the carbon copy of the email in his inbox and wills time to go backwards. Just a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Enough time to go back and keep autocorrect from transforming whatever he’d typed after ‘he’ in his pronouns after his name into… that.

Thank you so much for all your help. Together we can make this a truly exceptional Edinburgh Pride. Regards, Henry Fox (he/hung Sent from Outlook for iOS.

How had he not seen it before he hit send on an email going out to every volunteer on their mailing list? How had he not noticed?

Maybe no one else would notice either. No one looks at email signatures that closely, right?

~~~~~

Ok, he’s not delusional enough to think that no one noticed. He had, however, naively believed that everyone would recognise it for what it was and politely ignore his gaff. He gets away scot free for a few days, and then, at the end of an email sent by a volunteer that is mostly as expected, he sees:

Best, Alex (he/him) PS: not sure I did the pronouns right. Does ‘Pride’ over here include being proud of your big dick?

It’s a damned good thing that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at the time, or he might be wearing it instead. Once he’s finished choking on nothing and perhaps isn’t quite the colour of a tomato (oh, who is he kidding, of course he still is), Henry professionally answers Alex’s questions about the schedule for the day of the march. He pauses before the sign off, wondering if he should acknowledge the flub or pretend it never happened. In the end, he writes:

Regards, Henry (he/him) PS: Your pronouns look correct to me, but they are, of course, your choice.

He only checks the email about ten times before he sends it. Hopefully, that should be the end of it.

~~~~~

It’s not.

Apparently, Alex has more questions. Apparently the law firm he works for is one of this year’s sponsors and is interested in potentially running a free legal clinic associated with the festival. A noble endeavour, which Henry is only too happy to assist with. He makes a mental note to look into logistics with Kate, the event’s chair, and continues reading. Finding out that Alex is apparently mature enough to be a lawyer lulls him into a false sense of security, though. At the tail of the email, he finds:

PS: regardless of the size of your dick, I’m impressed by the balls it takes to not acknowledge the typo. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? PPS: I’m trying out new pronouns. How do you think (daddy/sir) would go over?

Henry does spit his tea all over his phone this time.

He doesn’t email Alex back right away, but that’s because he has to wait to hear back from Kate. It has nothing to do with the fact that the prospect of dragging this interaction out longer is both horrifying and vaguely thrilling. Henry has noticed that he uses Americanised spellings in his text, which seems to fit with his general demeanour. It piques Henry’s curiosity, even though the thought of actually having to face Alex in person still makes him flush automatically. Eventually he gets an email from Kate that includes additional questions for the firm, as well as telling him that he can pass it off to someone in sponsor coordination. He is, after all, just the volunteer coordinator for the march. This need not involve him.

He still emails Alex back with the questions. And:

PS: Although I support your creativity, I am concerned those pronouns may not be appreciated in a professional setting such as, for instance, a court of law. Just a thought. However, I do suspect they might be rather popular at Pride.

~~~~~

They keep on exchanging emails, even though Henry should have sent Alex’s contact info to sponsor coordination ages ago, even though it becomes clear that Alex is not the one who will be ultimately responsible for the clinic either. On every one, there is a postscript in which Alex makes some kind of joke about the size of Henry’s dick.

do you have to get all your pants specially made with extra room in the crotch

do you have to check your dick as luggage when you fly

have you ever used it as a tripod

is your dick in another time zone

do you call your dick Sir Richard because it’s that prominent

In turn, Henry responds as dryly as possible, which only seems to encourage him. Oddly for someone who is volunteering at the event, Alex seems to have a lot of questions about Pride itself, as though this is the first one he’s attending on any continent. They exchange emails almost right up to the day of the march itself, but if they do taper off, Henry is too busy to notice. Coordinating volunteers for something as big as Edinburgh Pride is intense, and the days tick by before he even knows it.

He’s standing off to the side at the volunteer check-in tent on the morning of the march, going over some last minute logistics with one of his staff, when a voice carries over the hubbub, deep and rich with an out-of-place American accent.

“Sorry, but I was hoping… is Henry here?”

Henry straightens up and turns toward the voice only to find perhaps the most stunning man he’s ever seen standing at the front table. Dark, curly hair, a sharp jaw, big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Henry has ever seen— he’s actually impossibly beautiful. Unbelievable, really. As is the fact that he’s asking for Henry.

“Hello,” Henry says as he walks over to the front. “How can I help you?”

The man’s eyes snap over to him, and he very clearly looks Henry up and down and swears, “Jesus fuck,” under his breath. Then his eyes come back up to Henry’s face, and he swallows. “You’re not Scottish.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Neither are you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just— need to adjust what you sound like in my head,” he says nonsensically. “I’m Alex?”

Oh.

Oh, Christ.

Henry should have known, because how many other Americans could there be volunteering at Edinburgh Pride? That reality does nothing to help him cope with the situation presented before him, though, in which this is the man who’s been teasing him about the size of his dick for the last month.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently as he tries to pull himself together. There are far too many people standing around watching this exchange. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Did your firm get everything sorted with the clinic?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking. “Yeah, thanks. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something for you?”

It kind of comes out as a question, and he’s scratching the back of his head uncertainly, so even though Henry has no idea what’s coming, he nods. Then Alex reaches into his pocket, fishes out something small and round, and places it on the table between them.

It’s a button. A pronoun button, not unlike the one Henry’s already wearing, but instead it reads: he/hung.

Henry’s eyes snap up to find Alex grinning at him with the kind of mischief that Henry honestly should have expected from him sparkling in his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were prepared,” he says with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Then he takes his volunteer t-shirt and saunters off—and Christ those jeans are ridiculously tight and doing everything for his arse—leaving Henry gawping after him. A moment later, one of his regular volunteers, Robin, bustles by, catches sight of the button, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a cackle.

“My god, it’s perfect,” they say. “Did he really make this for you?”

Henry can only sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “It appears so. Robin, can you do me a favour?”

“Make sure you’re working the same stations all day?” they surmise. Henry doesn’t need to look to imagine the knowing grin on their face.

Henry wants to say no. Just because Henry’s already managed to combine the affection engendered by their previous email conversations with Alex��s stunning good looks into a powerfully intoxicating cocktail of a crush—well, that’s on Henry and his poor decision-making.

Instead, he says: “Yes, exactly that.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Alex had only signed up to volunteer at Pride on a whim. He’s always complaining that he doesn’t know anyone in Edinburgh outside of his coworkers, and one such coworker—someone that he could safely call a friend—suggested that getting involved in the festival would be a good way to meet people. Alex had tried to explain that he wasn’t actually queer, but she’d just given him an odd look and told him that allies were welcome at Pride too. It had felt a little weird signing up despite her assurances, but also kind of good. He was finally going get out there and have a life beyond his job.

He certainly hadn’t expected to strike up a prolonged email exchange with the volunteer coordinator, Henry. He also doesn’t really know why he kept finding excuses to send him new messages, except for Henry’s responses to Alex’s stupid jokes made Alex imagine him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh, which only egged Alex on further. It was fun. That’s all.

Nothing about any of this made him prepared to show up to the volunteer check-in tent today and be plunged directly into a sexuality crisis. But that seems to be exactly what’s currently happening now that he’s been confronted by quite possibly the hottest man he’s ever seen. Alex doesn’t even get it because it’s not like he hasn’t been able to objectively appreciate attractive men before, and blond hair and blue eyes have historically never really done it for him. Even if they are combined with swooping cheekbones, and broad shoulders, and obscenely full, pink lips.

All he knows is that as much as this doesn’t make sense, it also suddenly does. Why he’d felt drawn to sign up in the first place. Why he spent the last month reading about the history of Pride in Edinburgh and around the world. Why he’d gone on a deep dive doing research about different sexualities, brushing it off as wanting to be informed before meeting new people.

Why he was so obsessed with Henry’s dick.

Jesus fuck.

He thinks he manages to hold a short conversation. Somehow he even gives Henry the custom button he brought as a joke, smiling the whole time like he’s not moment’s away from dropping to his knees. He flees the table safe in the knowledge that Henry will likely be too busy coordinating stuff all day and Alex probably won’t see him again. That confidence is shattered when, not even an hour later, Henry shows up at the station Alex is supposed to be working. He’s even wearing the joke button, under his regular pronoun button and next to a little rainbow flag pin. Alex is going to die.

“Oh hey,” Alex says in a reasonable facsimile of nonchalance. “Did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” Henry replies. “I’ll be working this station too.”

Yeah, Alex is definitely not going to make it through the day.

~~~~~

It actually turns out to be not as bad as he feared, despite how Henry’s volunteer t-shirt is probably a size too small (never mind that in the context of everyone else at Pride he looks downright conservative) and Alex keeps getting caught staring at his shoulders or his back or his waist. Henry keeps on giving him weird looks at the beginning, probably because he’s expecting Alex to be cracking crude jokes. Too bad Alex is way too wound up in his own head to think of anything at all.

They’re pretty busy all day, but they do get a chance to chat occasionally, mostly small talk stuff about jobs and how they both ended up in Edinburgh. Henry is there for grad school, apparently, and has been volunteering for Pride since he moved out from under his grandmother’s restrictive shadow. In turn, Alex tells him about applying for the law job on a whim, desperate to set himself apart from his parents, and how much he likes Edinburgh (despite the weather). As the day stretches on and the streets fill up, Alex feels himself relaxing into his skin again, undeniably enjoying the festivities as well as Henry’s company.

See, the other thing he never, ever expected is how good it feels to be here. All the people around him loudly comfortable in themselves, and the color and glitter and celebration— it’s amazing, but it’s not just that he’s watching other people be happy. There’s a kind of ecstatic joy that bubbles up inside him at the fact that he’s part of it, one that he feels down to his bones. A sense of belonging that he’s never really experienced before, and that, more than anything else, makes him more certain of his newfound revelation.

Straight people probably don’t feel like this at Pride.

At the end of the day, he’s helping pack up the main volunteer tent when he comes across a table full of pins depicting different pride flags. He dimly remembers seeing them when he’d checked in and thinking that none of them applied to him. Now, he stares down at them and bites his lower lip uncertainly.

“There’s a box for those under the table,” Henry tells him from across the tent, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Alex says, and Henry’s already turning back to whatever he’s doing when he manages to continue, “Hey, can I— um, can I take one of these?”

Henry stops, his brow creasing as he tips his head slightly. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Right, thanks,” Alex says with a tight smile.

He puts his hand out, hesitates, then picks up one with pink, purple, and blue stripes. Stares down at it for another moment before he realizes he’s probably being weird and he’s pretty sure Henry is still watching him. He swallows hard, then pins it to his shirt next to his pronoun button.

No one jumps out to call him out for being an impostor. Henry offers him a careful smile, then turns back to his work like he knows Alex needs a moment to himself. He lets his fingers rub over the surface of the pin, feeling the little enamel ridges, and something settles under his skin, like an itch he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

He feels almost normal by the time Henry walks up to him once they’re finished and everything is packed away in someone’s car.

“Thanks so much for your help today,” Henry says.

“It was my pleasure,” Alex replies, and means it more than he can say. “I’m really glad I decided to sign up.”

“I realize you may very well be tired of my face at this point, but if you don’t already have plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink?”

Alex would like to make a joke about how it might be literally impossible to get tired of Henry’s face, but at this point he’d probably fuck up and confess his undying love for a guy he just met. “Sounds great,” he says instead, looking around at where a few of the other volunteers are lingering nearby. “Do y’all usually all go out together afterward?”

Henry coughs slightly and glances down at the ground for a few seconds as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “Well yes, a group of them usually do. But I was actually asking if you wanted to go out with me,” he says. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as his stomach decides to do a backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Spending all day volunteering with Henry was fun. Going on a date with Henry, being the sole focus of his attention, is intoxicating. Alex feels like he could sit here all night listening to Henry talk about his research on queer history, although that’s far from the only thing they talk about. As the night wears on and the pub slowly empties, Alex is buzzing with a few drinks and the euphoria of really clicking with someone, already wondering when would be too soon to ask Henry out again.

Henry shifts slightly so his legs press against Alex’s where they’re tangled together under the table—have been for several hours, actually. He’s playing with the stirrer in his empty glass, and a little teasing smirk sneaks onto his lips as he looks up at Alex.

“So you made me a custom pronoun button but forgot your own?”

“Ah, you know,” Alex replies with a shit-eating grin and a one-shouldered shrug, “thought it would be too distracting, what with how everyone would be hitting on me all day.”

Henry hums thoughtfully, biting back a wider smile. “If you wanted to avoid that, you probably should have chosen some looser trousers.”

“That’s fair. I suppose you had to go for the room in yours.” Alex pauses a beat. “You know, on account of the size of your dick.”

That makes Henry actually laugh and shake his head fondly. “I was waiting all day for that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex says, chuckling along with him. It does feel like he owes Henry something of an explanation of why he was so weird all day. He looks down and licks his lips. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course,” Henry answers with a small, encouraging smile.

“A friend of mine suggested I volunteer for this because I wanted to meet people. Make new friends. But until today I actually thought I was… mostly straight?” Alex admits, trying not to wince as he stares fixedly into his empty glass. “Being part of this made me realize why I always felt a little like I wasn’t my whole self. So I was… kind of going through it a bit today.” He pauses, then adds, “Also you’re so ridiculously fucking hot that you kind of melted my brain.”

Henry laughs again, but it’s softer this time. Gentle. Alex kind of wants to sink into the sound. Henry’s cheeks are slightly pink as he extends a hand across the table, and Alex doesn’t hesitate before he slides his hand into Henry’s and links their fingers together.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” Henry says. “I mean, the feeling like your whole self part. Not the brain melting part,” he adds, and Alex can’t help but laugh with him.

Henry doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and once they’re alone on the sidewalk he uses it to pull Alex close. He puts a hand on Alex’s hip and Alex has to tip his head up to look at him, and it’s a lot but he’s also pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Henry’s lips pressed against his.

“I have a confession too,” Henry murmurs as he stares down into Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the very first moment I saw you.”

Alex lets one corner of his mouth tug upwards. “What’s stopping you, baby?”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry breathes, looking momentarily overwhelmed, but then he’s pressing his lips to Alex’s, and Alex feels his blood sing. It’s brief and chaste and leaves him aching for more, but then Henry looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes and asks, “Given your recent personal revelations, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you back to my place?”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” Alex replies, then he reaches up to touch the side of the ridiculous he/hung button that Henry is still wearing for some reason. “I wanna find out how accurate this button is.”

(It doesn’t take long for him to find out that the answer is: extremely.)

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

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good-yonji-au · 7 months

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So I discovered this AU about 5 hours ago and it has me in a chokehold. Your Yonji is a precious bean and he must be protected at all times, and Sanji being a big brother is everything I didn't even know I wanted. <3 I hope you don't mind the influx of questions I have after going through the whole tag.

So speaking of Sanji being a big brother, have he and Yonji ever hugged? If so, what prompted it? Is Yonji more touchy-feely than Sanji in general, or are they both pretty touch-averse?

How does Yonji fight? Did he develop his own style of fighting after leaving Germa 66, much like Sanji did, or does he still fight the way he did when working under Judge? Is he still really good at fighting, or does he easily become a nonfunctional, overwhelmed mess, bombarded on all sides with everyone's heightened and fraught emotions?

Does Yonji's prosthetic arm have attachments and hidden weapons? How does he upkeep it? Does he know how it works decently enough do to it himself, or does he have a mechanic that he goes to for tuneups?

Who taught Yonji tailoring and fashion? Sanji had Zeff to help him become a master chef, so did someone take Yonji under their wing in a similar fashion? Or is he entirely self-taught?

Does Yonji ever feel bad for leaving his brothers and sister behind? Unlike Sanji, who had normal human emotions from the get-go, Yonji's been on both sides of the fence, and he knows what it's like to be the sociopathic killing machine their father turned them into. Does he wish there was some way to trigger what happened to him in them as well? Do he and Sanji ever talk about their family? We know Sanji was the only one to regularly go and visit their mother, but do you think Yonji has any memories of her as well? Does he beg Sanji for stories about her?

Where does Yonji live? Does Sanji swing by to visit him every so often, or do they keep in touch by air mail, does Yonji join the Strawhats or just travel with them?

Does Sanji ever have a "O shit, I think I might actually love him" moment when it comes to Yonji? It could be something domestic like laughing together in Sanji's kitchen they work together to prepare a meal, or something like seeing Yonji about to be injured or even killed in the middle of a fight and going "This is the only little brother I've got, not on my watch, dammit!"

Lastly, do you have any songs in mind for you AU, aside from the ones you've used for your animatics? Some that came to mind for Yonji are:

"Stray Italian Greyhound" by Vienna Teng

"To Be Human" by Sia

"Zephyrus" by The Oh Hellos

"Stigma" by V

And I think "Soap" by The Oh Hellos maybe fits Sanji's feelings toward having his brother back in his life and being willing to extend a second chance to him after seeing how he's changed.

Holy shit that's a long ask! Lemme see...

So speaking of Sanji being a big brother, have he and Yonji ever hugged? If so, what prompted it? Is Yonji more touchy-feely than Sanji in general, or are they both pretty touch-averse?

They've hugged, mostly at WCI arc. But for the most part they're touch adverse (despite being touch starved). Yonji enjoys instigating physical affection to anyone but he's not great at taking it.

Yonji very rarely fights anymore. He usually quickly gets overwhelmed and becomes a mess, yes, due to all of the emotions. Whenever he gets into a fight he loses control of his Haki and it's a bad time. However, if he has a goal, (protecting someone, getting something etc.) he can power through it. His fighting style is still mostly brute force punching because he hasn't learned any other way. However, when he joins the Revs, he gets taught to be more smart about it.

It used to! He broke a lot of them/refuses to use them. He knew how it worked enough to keep it functional up until he meets the Strawhats and upon finding the frankly horrendous state of the prosthetic, Franky helps make Yonji a new one, specialized for tailoring! He rarely gets issues with the new are but if he does he can usually troubleshoot himself or attempt to contact Franky.

Who taught Yonji tailoring and fashion? Sanji had Zeff to help him become a master chef, so did someone take Yonji under their wing in a similar fashion? Or is he entirely self-taught?

For the most part, he's self-taught! Maybe I'll give him a mentor but I'm usually pretty adverse to making OCs for my AUs. Hmmmmm. He definitely had a training arc under some big name shops at one point though.

*smacks yonji on the head* This good boy can fit so much guilt complex in him! He's guilty about everything all the time! Yes, he does want to help Ichiji and Niji, which comes into play post WCI. While Sanji and Yonji tend to avoid talking about Judge or their siblings, Sora has been brought up before. I know I haven't mentioned it on tumblr yet, but I sometimes draw Yonji with a necklace, which is supposed to be a trinket of Sora's that Reiju gave to him when Yonji ran away. Yonji's memories of Sora is hazy and he pretty torn up about it. Yeah, he asks Sanji for stories about her. <3

Where does Yonji live? Does Sanji swing by to visit him every so often, or do they keep in touch by air mail, does Yonji join the Strawhats or just travel with them?

He lives on this random island along the Grandline! Something kinda like Saboady or Hand Island. The Straw Hats (specifically) Sanji has visited few times post the initial meeting but Yonji does not actively travle with them. He might had, like, one adventure with them but otherwise he's not part of the crew or anything. He does get the SH's den den mushi number and keeps in touch that way. Occasionally he'll send packages- usually at the behest of Sanji at the behest of Nami, lol. Later, Yonji ends up getting roped into joining the Revs and he splits his time between being at his shop and at Baltigo.

YES! Specifically Yonji crying and gushing about how good Sanji's cooking is. Yonji is a little foodie and while he can't cook to save his life, he does happen to know a good bit about how food gets made and really learned to appreciate the effort that goes into cooking. Sanji is not normal over this fact. He has the "Don't touch my brother!" moment at WCI screaming at Judge. Which sends Yonji into a blubbering mess. (A lot of things happen WCI lmfao.)

Lastly, do you have any songs in mind for you AU, aside from the ones you've used for your animatics?

My ass doesn't actively listen to a whole bunch of music but I have made a playlist for this AU! The vibe mostly is like upbeat songs with sad lyrics lol.

Forgive my terrible terrible taste in music:

Thank you for the songs! Gonna snag 'em and add 'em to the playlist hehe.

Also, thank you for the ask!!!! <3 <3

#good yonji au #orange asks

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wsdanon · 2 months

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Heyo! I would love to hear about your new au if you'd like to talk about it? I hope everything goes well and alright with what you described <3

hi \o/ just quickly it might not even happen but if it does I will be okay all up it will just be a bit shit for a little bit

onto the au: I’ve been inspired by some art pieces I’ve seen with the basics—vampire!pac/vampire hunter!fit. I won’t go too into the plot in case I do end up writing it (or even just sections of it to post as wips) but here we go I’ll put it under a cut

i think the big thing to me is that fit is a vampire hunter because it pays well. it’s not because he hates them or has a grudge against them or wants to protect people or anything. maybe he enjoys the fight a little but it’s mostly about the money. also maybe not when he first started but by the time the au starts he has ramon so you know he needs to provide for ramon!

i don’t really have anything against “guy who hates vampires and kills them learns not to hate vampires by falling in love with one” stories but it’s not something I’m particularly interested in writing so the motivation of money (specifically money for ramon) is important to me and I think fits fit’s (lol) character better anyway

pac and mike are vampires who were turned by cellbit ages ago when they were escaping from prison together. I like to think through the whole losing his leg thing pac got turned somehow and then mike got cellbit to turn him too so he wouldn’t have to be without pac/pac wouldn’t have to be without him. (Sidenote: I think pac is kind of upset he couldn’t turn mike but mike was panicking a little so… cellbit)

at the time of the au they all live together with felps who is like… the “human” they all feed from. he’s their special little guy and boyfriend (fuga four are all in an established polycule by this point to me) felps is a saint in this au \o/ but it doesn’t really effect those three* it mostly just means he can heal pretty fast/regenerate blood pretty fast so they don’t have to go feed from the townsfolk. they used to though! especially cellbit. but it just ended up being way too much negative attention and they figured out they could feed from felps fine so they decided to stick with that. Richarlyson is also with them \o/

(*there’s probably some way I can fill in the plot hole of vampires being repelled by holy things but still able to feed from a saint but I haven’t figured that out yet. Right now I would say it’s probably because he’s not a proper saint in my headcanons)

also this will probably be exposition if I write it at all so I’ll mention it here: but the thing that kicks off the plot is felps is kidnapped for a month so they have to go feed on townspeople again and that prompts someone to hire a vampire hunter aka fit

the dynamic between fit and Pac here is very much onesided enemies to lovers as in: fit is very insistent to himself that he’s just here to do his job. pac is certain they are living out an enemies to lovers plotline and is having fun flirting with someone who’s trying to kill him because it’s pac so of course he is. and with how fit keeps reacting to his flirting it just confirms it in his mind that this is the path they’re on. pac is right anyway it definitely is enemies to lovers and despite the attempts at professionalism fit is very much falling for Pac

i think from here on it gets into more plot stuff so I’ll leave it here for now \o/ thank you for the ask!

#wsd/v.ampireau #wsd/a.sks #astatinu

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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Hello, dear! ♡ I saw your requests were back open and I was wondering if I could request more Thranduil smut where the female reader (human) does everything she can to befriend Legolas just so she can get into Thranduil's pants "Do you think I don't know what you are doing?" 🔥🔥🔥 (modern or not. I will let you decide!). Please and thank you so much. I hope you are having a great week.

I hope you like this!

“Mr. Oropherion”

Prompt: "Do you think I don't know what you're doing?" | Setting: Library, and then the bedroom.

Pairing: Modern Thranduil x Fem Reader (Second person POV)

Themes: Smut | Soft | Slow burn | Modern AU

Word count: 4.3K words

Summary: Finishing university and having to spend the night at your best friend’s place takes a surprising turn when his father reciprocates the feelings you had been secretly harbouring for him.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥| Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

It was close to four in the morning when you brought Legolas back home.

The graduation party had been a resounding success; everyone had enjoyed themselves. Legolas got into a drinking game with Gimli, and neither backed down. Bottles quickly emptied, stacks of glasses grew, and then, just when it looked like the contest was heading for a draw, Gimli burped, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head, and he fell right off his chair. That was when you knew the time had come to take your friend home. Gimli was taken by Aragorn, Boromir, and his brother, so he could sleep at their place.

"My hands tingle," Legolas suddenly mumbled, before slumping deeper into the seat and snoring loudly.

You shook your head and smiled to yourself. Tingling hands? He’s going to be in for one hell of a hangover, you mused. And begging for aspirin the moment he opened his eyes—or perhaps a quick death. Maybe both, depending on how bad the after-effects were. You turned your attention to the road. It was empty at this time, but the incessant rain only served to slow down the taxi. Still, you could make out the bright neon lights and the lightning that split the sky in white, hot flashes of light. The residential area of the city soon neared, and you gaped at all the apartment buildings. It still shocked you that Legolas and his father live in such an expensive place in the city.

Thoughts of Legolas’s father had you reaching into your purse for your phone. You would need help taking Legolas up to the appartment. It didn’t take long, and you were promised someone would be there to help you. You squinted into the gloom and pointed out the correct building to the driver. Sure enough, Feren, Thranduil’s assistant, was out by the main entrance, wallet in hand, to pay the driver. Your apologies were endless and earnest, and Feren brushed them off with a friendly wave of the hand. He and Thranduil had been up most of the night anyway, going over an important contract, finishing up things just before your call came. The three of you had to walk in fits and starts, as Legolas was taller and swayed constantly. It was a trial, taking him through the ground floor, ignoring the stares of the stunned concierges. Then the lift, where Legolas nearly tilted onto the door. Then the top floor, where again, Legolas kept swaying and dragging the two of you with him.

"Will there be a repeat of this after he comes back from his trip?" muttered a highly amused Feren.

"I don’t know," you replied. "Next time it will be Aragorn’s turn to be the designated responsible adult, so you’ll have to ask him."

Feren nearly choked on his laughter. "You lot all take turns?"

"Oh yes," you mumbled, relieved when a familiar pair of doors drew closer. "We drew straws the moment we all became friends in University. Gimli has been grumbling about this arrangement ever since."

Feren snorted and gave you the apartment key. And nearly toppled into the corridor the moment you opened the door. "Easy there, big fella," You managed to brace yourself against the doorpost, to stop all three of you from falling flat on your faces. "Not all that far now; go to bed and sleep."

"I don’t need sleep," Legolas mumbled in his sleep. "I need Tauriel. Where is she? Where is my Tauriel?"

"Sleeping in her own bed," you said and smiled, thinking of the ring you helped Legolas pick out. "And probably thinking of all the things the two of you could do on your trip. Now come on," you let Feren lead the way to Legolas’s bedroom. "Off to bed with you."

"Mmm-hmm," Legolas breathed and allowed himself to be put to bed. His snores started again the moment his head hit the pillow, leaving you and Feren with enough time to dry off his hair and remove his socks and shoes.

"I’ll be heading out then," Feren said, satisfied that his boss’s son was settled in. "Mr. Oropherion said he’d like a word with you after you’ve settled in the guest bedroom."

"Of course," you managed, after having remembered Legolas’s invitation for you to stay over, and rest. "I’ll go see what the old man wants."

With that, Feren said his goodbyes and left. And you, not knowing what else to do with yourself, made your way to the guest bedroom. Everything was just like you remembered it: the comfortable bed and softer silk sheets, the quaint furniture, and the delicate wallpaper, all covered in roses. You noticed none of it while you put your things away and left your duffel bag in a corner. A bath had to come first to get the smell of that party off of you. And how wonderful it was to feel steam and hot water, the soap that felt so good as it glided over your skin. You showered for as long as reasonably possible, and then, one glorious hot shower later, you threw on a nightgown and flannel robe, and padded into the hall.

Thranduil wasn’t there, and he wasn’t in the kitchen. You were certain he didn’t want to meet you in his private rooms, so that left you with only one other place. The library. You took your time, relishing the feel of the soft carpet under your feet, the beautiful paintings that graced the walls, and the photographs. There were so many of them that you probably wouldn’t have been able to count them all. A door then opened, making you jump and clutch your chest in shock.

"Mr. Oropherion," you managed. Thranduil had been standing by the door, still dressed in his office clothes. You tried hard not to stare as he cut a stunning figure in the crisp white shirt and black pants he wore. His hair, usually pulled up into a neat bun, was loose now. "I… I didn’t mean to keep you waiting or anything."

Thranduil studied you keenly, his vivid blue eyes never leaving yours. "It is all right," he said finally, showing no sign of anger or impatience. "Come in. There is coffee if you would like something hot to drink."

"Please," you said cheerfully, perking up at the thought of hot coffee.

And being in Thranduil’s company, of course, although you would never say it out loud. That was the main reason you befriended Legolas in the first place—to try and get closer to his father. Thranduil was a most achingly handsome man, possessing the same platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and strange but pretty leaf-shaped ears as his son had. Captivating and very much the man in charge, Thranduil was also a mystery, a man who was fiercely guarded about himself. Even his own son knew only so much about him, and Thranduil barely spoke to you, although you were frequently visiting Legolas. Now? Now he invited you to his library of all things, with a need to talk to you. You swallowed and walked up to him.

"Feren said you wanted to have a word with me, Mr. Oropherion," you said after going inside and closing the door behind you. "May I ask what for?"

Thranduil said nothing, only gesturing for you to make yourself comfortable at a large, polished table. His, no doubt, the one he used for his work. You were content to curl up on a comfortable leather chair and watch as he brought over two steaming mugs of coffee. Yours he gave first, before making himself comfortable in the chair opposite your own. He studied you again, watching you while you sipped, how your hair had been slicked back and how your cheeks looked all flushed after your shower. His gaze intensified in a way that made your heart flutter, and then he focused on his drink and asked questions about the party, what you planned on doing now that you were done with university, if you had any jobs lined up, and was pleased when he heard you would be starting work in a few weeks time. He then turned the discussion to the matter of his son's plans.

"Legolas showed me the ring." He sighed and took a sip before putting his mug away. "It is quite exquisite, and perfect for Tauriel. I am told you had a hand in it?"

"I had to, when he showed me the rings he had in mind," you said, making a face when you remembered going over Legolas’s choices. "You’d think with a father like you, Legolas would have better taste."

You quickly went back to your coffee, trying to be as casual as possible. The chief purpose of your compliment was for Thranduil’s benefit, not just because you were talking about Legolas’s questionable taste in jewelry. Thranduil didn’t reply but looked at you keenly. You coughed and tried to come up with something else to say. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Thranduil kept looking at you, thinking of what he should say to you, of what he should say about your comments. In the end, he decided to be direct.

"Do you think I do not know what you are doing?" He took the mug out of your hands and placed it on the table. His fingers seemed to linger over yours, but you weren’t sure if you were imagining things or not. You coughed again and tried to brush off your comments.

"Do what?"

"Trying to get my attention. Do you think I have not caught on to what you are trying to do?"

"It’s nothing, Mr. Oropherion," you said with a nervous wave of the hand. "Just a silly little nothing, that’s all."

"And the Christmas gift?" Thranduil refused to let it go. "The handmade bracelet for me? Or that bottle of fine wine? One that should have been well beyond your means? How about all the times you would look at me with such deep yearning when your attention should have rightfully been elsewhere? Were those silly little nothings as well?"

Oh, dear. The bracelet could have been explained away, but the wine? You should have known you were overdoing it with the wine, and you now realize you had not been as subtle as you thought when it came to the way you looked at him.

"Does he know?" you asked finally, hoping and praying the ground would open and swallow you whole.

Thranduil rewarded you with a brief but arresting smile. "No. Legolas does not. And since you genuinely care for my son, I have kept my silence on the matter. But that still does not answer my question. Were you trying to get my attention? And no lies, I have neither the time nor the patience for them."

You dropped your head in utter embarrassment. Thranduil tutted gently and curled a finger under your chin, lifting it so your gaze was level with his. "Were you craving my attention, y/n?"

"Yes," you replied meekly.

"I see," Thranduil said slowly, hesitantly, as he ran his thumb across your lower lip. He groaned softly when your lips slowly parted. "Was this a simple liking, something innocent, or was this something more intimate in nature?"

Your cheeks were aflame. "More… intimate… Mr. Oropherion."

Thranduil’s eyes darkened. "You want me to bed you? Have my way with your body?"

"Yes," as bashful as you were, you still answered him. You very much wanted him to spend the night with you. "Maybe more than that."

His smile simply grew, and his eyes glinted wickedly in the light. Thranduil reflected on your answer and came to a decision. The time had come for him to be truthful as well.

"What if I told you I desired you in return?" He grinned when your eyes widened in both shock and pleasure. "That I had longed for you for nearly a year? What would you say to that?"

You were stunned and confused. Over the course of the previous year, Thranduil treated you like he always did, with barely any interest. Of course, he would be polite to you, asking about your classes and your exams, but there was nothing beyond that. In truth, it was Legolas who did most of the talking. You weren't sure if Thranduil even listened to you. Now he has freely confessed to wanting you.

"But you barely spoke to me," you huffed, more than a little hurt that he would keep such a thing from you. "There were times you acted like I wasn't even there."

For this, Thranduil was remorseful. "And I apologize for being so cold with you. I do have very good reasons for concealing my true feelings, and I will talk about them someday soon, but for now I must ask if you would like me to bed you now and make you mine."

Thranduil said no more. He leaned back in his chair and gave you time to think.

He had good reasons, you mused. The age difference, no doubt; Legolas's possible reactions and the memories of his first wife's tragic passing. Thranduil took years to recover, Legolas had once said, and he refused all attempts at relationships, even ones that could only last a night.

Until now.

"Why now?" A wave of insecurity caught you unawares. The Oropherions had come from another country and were old money. Thranduil could have easily set his sights on someone like him, and he could still do it, pretending that there was no one else. After all, longing could mean many things. "And why me?"

"Is it not obvious?" he asked, after seeing doubt cloud your eyes.

"No," you flushed when he took your hands into his. Such large hands he had—hands that were so warm against yours. Thranduil raised yours to his lips, kissing them repeatedly.

"Your skin smells glorious, just like I thought it would be," Thranduil observed, his lips curling into a smile. "And soft. So soft. I cannot wait to feel your hands all over my body."

His gaze cut to yours. Your eyes were fixed on his, your pupils wide and your breathing quick. Doubt still clouded your eyes, and doubt was what he wanted to soothe.

"Are you worried I might set you aside for someone else?"

"Yes," you swallowed, but somehow you clung on to your courage. "You're an Oropherion and I'm... I'm... Me"

Thranduil grabbed your hands by the wrists and tugged on them, pulling you out of your chair and onto his. Your breath hitched when you found yourself on his lap, his arms hooking around your waist.

"I cannot ask you to simply put complete faith in me, not when you still do not truly know me," Thranduil admitted. "All I can ask is for you to give me a chance. Just one. Will you do that for me? Give me a chance?"

You looked at him, at those startling eyes of his. You found no malice, no ill-intent, just a pair of sky-blue eyes that looked at you in a way no one else had done before. One chance, he had asked. You could risk giving him one chance.

"Alright," hands moving up your waist made your breath quicken again. "One chance."

Thranduil tightened his grip, heady anticipation coursing through his veins. "And can I make you mine now?"

"Yes," you were just as excited as he was. "But where though?"

Thranduil already had a place in mind, and set you down on your feet. When he rose, you had to really look up. Legolas may have been tall, but Thranduil was even taller.

"Come," he said, holding onto your hand. Thranduil led you out of the library and into the corridor. "I know just the place."

That place turned out to be his bedroom. It was like Legolas’s but on a much grander scale, with a large four-poster bed and warm accents everywhere. There was a wooden crest of some sort hung up on one wall, an intricately carved leaf surrounded by vines.

"My family’s crest," Thranduil stood behind you. "Tis an old one; the true meaning of it has been lost to time."

His hand had been moving up your arm, making your skin prickle and warm beneath his palm.

"You can change your mind at any time," he murmured and moved even closer, his other arm slowly circling around your waist. "I will stop the moment you ask me to."

You didn’t want him to stop. Not now, not after what he was making you feel, all warm and feverish and lustful.

"What if I don’t want you to stop?" you replied, your body slowly sagging into his. Thranduil groaned triumphantly and turned you around, his arms pulling you into a tight embrace.

His kiss was far from gentle, leaving you breathless and heady. You willingly yielded, your arms twinning around his broad shoulders when he dipped to carry you, a growl slipping past his lips when your legs wrapped around his waist. Thranduil carried you to across the room, his kisses demanding and unceasing. When he set you down by the foot of the bed, you tried to undress yourself.

"No," Thranduil was quick to stop you. "Let me do it instead."

Your hands moved to your sides while skilled, patient fingers worked on the belt of your robe and drew it away. His eyes darkened at the lace and skin that lay beneath.

"Beautiful," he whispered dreamily, before tugging your robe down your arms. When it pooled around your feet your cheeks warmed immediately. Thranduil stood still for a moment, drinking in the vision that stood in front of him, before gathering you into his arms and kissing you again. You found yourself being carried into bed, its bedspread cool beneath your skin. A blissful sigh parted your lips when his tongue dipped into your mouth. You felt caged beneath him, his body heavy against yours in all manner of wonderful ways. When he pressed himself even closer, your nails nearly ripped into his shirt, leaving gouges in his back. It hurt, but Thranduil thought no pain felt even a fraction as good.

"You are going to be the death of me," he breathed and pulled away, so he could undress himself. Your blush rose immediately when the last of his clothes joined the little pile by the side of the bed and he towered before you like a magnificent sculpture come to life. You didn’t have time to even think as his lips sought yours again. He had to prop himself on one elbow, to avoid crushing you, but his kiss, oh, how sinful was his kiss, hungry and needy, and his touch, heated and possessive, as it moved all over your body. His hair felt thick to your touch, his skin petal-soft against your own. When he ground into you, more than a little hesitant, you threw caution to the wind.

"You don’t have to be gentle with me," you encouraged. When Thranduil stopped, studying you keenly, you cupped his face with your hands. You wanted him to do it, to take control and have his way with you completely. "I mean it, Mr. Oropherion, you don’t have…"

"Sir," Thranduil insisted, having brought down his own inhibitions. He wanted to hold back, to be gentle, to not fall on you like a beast, but if what you asked for was true…

"Not Mr. Oropherion," Thranduil's need to take control slowly overcame him. "Not while we are here, within the confines of this bedroom."

Your entire body flushed heatedly by his tone alone. "Yes," you gazed at him, blood roaring in yours ears. "Sir."

"Come," Thranduil settled onto his knees and held out a hand. When he pulled you onto his lap, you felt his cock—already hard—rubbing against your slick heat. Pinpricks of desire slowly grew as he kept rubbing himself against you, making you mewl and whimper into his shoulder.

"Are you sure about this, princess?" Thranduil growled, his voice deep and husky by now. "You do not want me to be gentle?"

What was it with the way he suddenly called you princess? Why did it make your pulse scramble so? "Yes," you readied yourself, eager for all the things he could possibly do to you. "Sir."

His lips crushed yours, his arms tightening around your waist like a vice. His teeth grazed over your lips, his tongue pushing past them and flicking against yours when it slipped into the warmth of your mouth. You couldn’t help but purr helplessly, your fingers raking through his hair. Thranduil forgot all sense of gentleness and decency as need lashed at him like a whip.

"So shameless, princess," he cooed, his hand making its way around your waist and onto your thigh. "The way you would look at me. Thinking I would not notice? Pitiful."

"I’m sorry, sir," you sighed when that hand of his snuck under the hem of your nightgown and glided up. "I’m so sorry."

"You should be," he muttered, "You should be very sorry."

Slap.

You jolted when he smacked your thigh. The pain that came was sharp, but the pleasure that followed afterwards…

"More," you begged, "Please."

"Sir," he reminded, before reddening your thigh again. "You forget yourself, princess."

"Sir," you mumbled quickly, "More sir, please."

Thranduil dipped and nipped your throat and your shoulder, taking care not to bruise such exposed parts.

"So needy already," he spanked your thigh a third time, moaning when you tugged his hair. "And I have just gotten started."

He kissed you again; his kisses aggressive and hot. He tugged at the hem of your nightgown, ordering you to lift your arms. The lace and silk confection went up your arms and over your waist before being tossed to the pile of clothes by the side. Thranduil pulled away to look at you, at your bruised lips, your skin gleaming in the lamplight, your disheveled hair, and your eyes, heavy-lidded, dark.

"Look at you," Thranduil grinned wolfishly as he took you in. "Already a mess."

"I am, sir," you snuggled even closer and threw your arms around his shoulders.

Instead of kissing you Thranduil pushed you onto your back, his greedy mouth exploring as much of your body as possible. You could only grip into the sheet when his teeth left darkening patches to bloom in their wake, your back arching every time he nipped at your skin. Your mewls turned into heady moans and Thranduil couldn’t get enough it.

"I often wondered how sweet you would sound when we fucked," he moaned and turned his attention to the soft swell of your breasts, dipping his head to taste. "How sweet you would taste."

"As much as I wondered how good you’d taste," you babbled without even realizing it. Thranduil chuckled before turning his attention back to what he was doing. He licked and laved, leaving your nipples throbbing by the time he had finished.

"Needy little slut, yes?" Thranduil pinned your hands over your head and forced your thighs apart with his. "But do not worry; you will get to taste me later. Lift those beautiful hips of yours for now."

You had just hooked your legs over his hips when he entered you, his cock plunging into your cunt in one quick stroke. He was so big, and it hurt, but the sensations that came with him sinking his length into you—the feel of your walls clenching around his cock—were too good, and the pain was forgotten quickly enough. Then he started to move.

Helpless and pinned beneath him, you found yourself being pushed higher up the bed every time he pulled his hips back and pushed back in, his moans matching yours. Thranduil forced himself to hold on, to wait till you had climaxed, but it had been so long, so very long, and you felt gloriously warm, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

"Come for me, princess," he commanded, "Come for me now."

A wave of intense pleasure rose within you, threatening to drag you under. You let it drag you under, your body splintering as your orgasm ripped through you. Your senses dulled as the world around you seemed to stop spinning. So lost in your blissed-out state that you barely felt Thranduil pull out of you and spill his seed over your belly, his moan that of a deeply satisfied man.

Clarity came slowly. The sweet, restful scent of lavender oil mingled with each breath you took. You blinked your eyes and looked up. Thranduil still hovered over you, his arms trembling, and sweat gleaming on his brow. Slowly, he let go, his kisses going from raw fury to tender pecks. He massaged your wrists, helped you get cleaned up and insisted that you sleep in his bed, reassuring you that Legolas would have no issue with you being with him. Once he was sure you were settled, he quickly threw on a pair of sweatpants and went out to fetch you a glass of water. Legolas had also walked into the kitchen at the same time, and the two shared a knowing look.

"It’s happening?" Legolas asked, and made his way over to his father. "Are you and y/n together now?"

Thranduil filled out a glass of water for him and watched while his son took an aspirin for the headache that was already building in intensity. Legolas knew of his father's plan. He had seen both his friend and father pining for each other and it was he who encouraged his father to take the first step in the first place.

"Yes," Thranduil filled another glass for you and studied his son. "I will date her properly and do my best not to make a mess of things. Y/n deserves better than that."

"Good," Legolas would have grinned, had it not felt like a rat was trying to gnaw its way out of his head. "Y/n will be good for you. Besides, you’ve been a lonely, miserable bastard for too long, dad."

Thranduil blushed but smiled all the same. "One does not expect to hear such language from their own child, but thank you."

tags: @ryantryan6969 @asianbutnotjapanese @lemonivall @the-fandoms-georgie @nupppuff

#🔥 spicy spring fling 🔥#thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil smut #thranduil imagine #modern thranduil #x reader #reader inset #reader request #writeblr #💫a world of whimsy writes

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straightupsickfics · 8 months

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love is embarrassing

sicktember prompt #28: "I should've stayed home" inspired by this post

ed/stede | modern au |4.5k words in which stede drags himself to a first date, get stood up, and meets the very hot, very nice bartender who turns the night around <3

****

Normally, Stede relishes having an excuse to pull together an outfit, to explore his favorite pieces in his walk-in closet, and make something new to wear.

Today, however, is a rare exception. Stede can hardly bring himself to get up and off the couch, let alone muster the brain power it’s going to take to organize an ensemble, even if it is for a date he has rather been looking forward to all week.

Well, looking forward to it with a little bit of anxious dread mixed in, something he can never seem to shake when it comes to romance. It’s not like he thought it’d be easy, leaving his wife of fifteen years, letting his children down gently, and starting over completely at the age of forty-five, but he hadn’t really stopped to consider how lonely it would be, either.

And now, to top it all off, Stede had managed to pick up a truly terrible cold over the last few days. Today it seems to have settled in, made itself at home in his head and sinuses, leaving him exhausted, his eyes and nose streaming in almost equal measure as he works his way through recurring fits of ticklish, damp sneezes.

He should stay home tonight, he knows this. Instead though, Stede has been hydrating, alternating between water and strong, black tea, and downing cold medicine all day in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, his date, David wouldn’t notice.

Sighing, Stede picks up his phone and finds a text from Lucius waiting for him.

Lucius: Hello? What, no panicked photos of the outfit? No “what if” date scenarios for me to puzzle through over brunch? Do you hate me??

Stede: I don’t do that

Lucius: 🤣 good one

Stede: 😶‍🌫️

Lucius: I’m kidding, you know I live for this, I’m AMAZING at pre-date planning

Stede: The advantages of being young and in love, I suppose…

Lucius: Oh, god, you’re not getting maudlin even before you go, right? It’s going to be fine, you’re going to put together a ridiculous (but slay) outfit, and he’s going to eat it up. Now, what are we wearing?

Stede looks at the blue sweatpants he would never leave the house in, the t-shirt that should have gone to the Goodwill years ago, and sighs again. He really should have started hours ago.

Stede: Can I FaceTime you?

Lucius: YES

“Hh! hdt-NGXT! Huh’ushhIEW! Ngh…” Stede tries and fails to smother the sneeze against his fist while he sifts through his options, a teal silk shirt, a lavender sweater, and a bright, mustard yellow button down all wait for him on the bed, and he watches as Lucius winces.

“Um, bless you? Are you sure you’re not getting sick? Because frankly that was pretty gross and sounded like it probably hurt.”

“It did, but I’mb finde…” Stede huffs, snuffling discreetly into a handful of tissues.

“Mm, too many letters in almost all of those words, babe,” Lucius says, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe the outfit you should actually be wearing is one of those hazmat suits.”

Stede pitches the tissues into the trash can and glares at his phone. “I thought you were going to help. This isn’t helping.”

Lucius arches an eyebrow and rolls his eyes. “Sir, yes sir. I’d go with the lavender. Looks nice with your hair. And you’re a bit pale for the others at present.”

He’s right, Stede knows, and he is grateful for the help, lucky to have had a work friend turn into a real friend over the last few years, especially as his divorce from Mary was happening, but Lucius had no filter, which was a blessing and a curse most days.

“Thanks, Lucius,” Stede says now. “I think you’re right, we’ll go with the lavender.” He does love the teal, has worn it on first dates in the past, but tonight it would only serve to draw attention to how completely worn out and pale he looks and feels, and he doesn’t want to deal with that.

Lucius gives him a mock salute in reply, and they chat for a few more minutes before Lucius has to go, warning Stede again to stay home if he was really feeling bad.

He falters for just a minute. His bed, even covered in clothes (and, okay, tissues) looks so inviting, a part of him wants nothing more than to climb right into it. But he has been looking forward to this, and David had already rescheduled twice.

So, Stede, stubborn as he is, waves Lucius off and sets about the long process of getting dressed, doing his hair, and carefully applying just a little concealer around the red-tinged parts of his nose. This takes the most time, as he finds himself applying and reapplying said concealer every time he has to stop to sneeze or blow his nose, which is far more often than he’d like.

When he’s finally ready, Stede takes another dose of cold medicine, shoves some cough drops into his pockets along with a travel packet of tissues, and sets out for his date. He’s texting that he’s on his way when he nearly drops his phone as a sneeze (or three) sneaks up on him.

“hH’UtsshH! Oh ndo… Huh’iiEEshh’uh! Huh-Ngtshh!”

It takes Stede another minute to compose himself, sniffling a good few times into the cuff of his jacket and sighing before he’s in his car and actually on his way to the restaurant, something called Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill that David had picked.

It was going to be a very long night.

Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill is so far up Stede’s alley he can’t believe he’s never been before now. It’s dark inside, and there’s an understated pirate theme throughout it. Not just a pirate flag and eyepatches, though. There’s an attention to detail there, a clear (to Stede) commitment to historical accuracy that he loves immediately.

Stede loves piracy, the whole idea of it. People running away to the sea, abandoning whatever haunted them on land, finding a new group of people to belong to…It sounds amazing, sometimes. It might not be — no, it definitely wasn’t—as romantic as Stede makes it out to be in his head, of course; piracy was brutal at the end of the day, but there’s something about it that Stede’s always found fascinating.

Running away to the sea is certainly something he’d thought about as he first started to come to terms with his sexuality, and the accompanying realization that he’d have to, eventually, tell Mary, therefore upending his entire life.

Stede has to blink himself back to the present, appreciating the delicate maps along the walls, the artwork of ships and shorelines along the walls, and of course, Blackbeard’s Jolly Roger flag hanging right by the bar.

He has to do a double take though, looking at the bar, because standing in front of the Jolly Roger is the bartender, who is quite possibly one of the best looking men Stede’s ever seen. He’s laughing at something a customer is saying in front of him, working a cocktail shaker with one heavily tattooed arm (was that a snake?) and setting out a glass with the other hand. His hair is a mix of black and gray, tied up in a half up half down ponytail, and Stede can’t bring himself to look away.

The drink gets poured, the man turns away to offer more rounds to other patrons, and Stede, eventually, realizes he’s been sitting at the table for over a half an hour with no sign of David. He frowns, picking up his phone, but there’s nothing there.

Stede: I’m here! Got us a table towards the back.

There’s no reply.

Twenty more minutes go by, and still, nothing.

Stede: He’s late

Lucius: Uh oh…

Stede: You don’t think. I mean. He’s coming, right? Just late…?

Lucius: Definitely. Traffic, probably! Btw how are you feeling?

Stede: Not the best, I’m afraid

Lucius: :( Hydrate while you wait!!

He’s right, and Stede takes a careful sip of his water. His throat hadn’t been too bad this afternoon, and he’s hoping it stays that way.

The waitress comes by just then, asking if she can bring anything for him to drink, get him started with any appetizers. He shakes his head, murmuring that he’s just waiting for someone, they’d order when he arrives, and she nods with a smile and walks away.

It’s not long after that that Stede gives in and checks his phone again. Still no reply. His stomach twists.

He can’t be getting stood up, tonight of all nights, when he wanted nothing more than to stay home in the first place. Right?

His nose gives a twinge just then, and Stede fumbles for the packet of tissues he has in his pocket, just bringing them to his nose and mouth as he sneezes four times in quick succession, his eyes and nose streaming by the end of the fit, the sneezes stronger and wetter than they’d been earlier, making them entirely impossible to hold back.

“hh’uHTSH! Snf! H-hh’uHTSHH! uuhh’TSH! huh’Eeiishh!” The tissues are useless by the end, too, and Stede drags himself to the bathroom to blow his nose in peace, splashing some water on his face for good measure.

He looks in the mirror, blinking a few times and trying to bring some life back into his face, but there’s no hope, it seems.

David had been right to stand him up, Stede thinks. He’s a mess.

Stede: I don’t think he’s coming, I’m afraid :(

Lucius: Nooo, I’m so sorry. Seriously. Do you want to come over? I won’t even complain about the germs.

Stede: Thank you, but I’m alright. Think I’ll give it a bit longer, sit at the bar instead of taking over a table, and then head out.

Lucius: <3 Call me in the morning!

“What can I get you, mate?” The tattooed bartender asks when Stede sits down at the bar.

“Oh, umb… J-just..huh!’ISH! Sorry, just a glass of Chardonnay?” Wine is probably definitely not a good idea tonight, Stede knows, but he feels like wallowing a little before going home.

“Sure thing, here you go.” The bartender sets the drink down and gives Stede a small, friendly smile. He really is beautiful.

“Thanks,” Stede says with a sigh. He looks at the glass and any desire to drink it vanishes. He just feels bad, tired and congested and achy all over.

“Uh oh, that’s a big sigh for a Saturday night,” the bartender says. The bar is currently empty aside from Stede and a woman sitting at the opposite end, and Stede looks at the man with his dark, kind eyes, and it all comes pouring out.

“I think I’m being stood up,” Stede confesses. “He rescheduled two times before this, which should’ve been a sign, I guess, but I thought we’d hit it off, texting and all that…”

“Damn, hate that. Just say you’re not feeling it, yeah? Why make someone feel like shit? S’why I don’t date so much anymore, myself.”

“You might be onto something there. Maybe I should get cats,” Stede says, sighing again.

At this, the bartender lights up. “Cats are the best. Love cats. Here, look…” He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and holds it out to Stede. On the lockscreen is a black cat with white feet, curled up on what has to be the bartender’s chest. In the picture, he’s wearing a shirt with a purple octopus on it, his hair down around his shoulders, his face cut off aside from a small smile.

It’s adorable.

“That’s Frank,” the bartender says. “Well, Frankfurter, one of his many names.”

Stede laughs, which turns abruptly into a coughing fit that lasts long enough for the bartender to grab a glass of ice water and place it in front of him.

“That doesn’t sound great,” he says as Stede takes a sip.

“Sorry about that. I probably should’ve stayed home,” Stede admits. “Thought I could power through for this date. Though if I’d had the sense to cancel I wouldn’t have been stood up.”

The man shakes his head. “S’all good. Kind of saw you sitting over there for a while, I wondered why someone like you’d be sitting alone for so long.”

Stede feels his face flush. Someone like him. What did that mean?

“In a good way,” the bartender clarifies. “I’m Ed,” he says.

“Ah. Stede. I’d shake your hand but…”

Ed smiles, holds up his hand and gives Stede a little air high-five. “There we go.”

Stede can’t help but smile back, genuinely, for the first time all night.

They sit there for a while, too long, probably, given how bad Stede feels, but Ed’s so nice, and really very funny, telling stories about the people he gets at the bar, about Frank, about his obsession with the ocean and pirate history.

“I love pirates,” Stede tells him excitedly. “I actually can’t believe I hadn’t been here before. You must’ve been thrilled to get a job here, then,” he adds.

Ed’s eyebrows lift for a split second, but then he’s nodding. “Yeah, love it,” he says.

Just then, a shorter, dark-haired man appears from the back, shooting a glowering look at Ed. “If there’s not enough customers, you could always come back and help with the order for next week, Edward,” he says. “Or are you too busy chatting up your guests?”

Ed frowns, his entire face changing as he turns to reply. “Fuck off, would you Izzy? It’ll all get done, thanks.”

The man gives a long-suffering sigh and turns, disappearing around a corner, gone as fast as he came.

“Was that… y’know, Blackbeard?” Stede asks, voice low.

Ed pauses again, then shakes his head. “Mm? No, I’m Blackbeard,” he says with a smile and a gesture to his face. “More scruff than beard these days, though,” he adds.

“Oh! You… Blackbeard’s is yours?”

“Yep! That was Izzy, my so-called right hand man. He’s gotten a little too comfortable running the show since he knows I prefer stuff like this,” Ed says, gesturing to the bar. “Just talking to people, you know?”

Stede nods. “You can tell you really love the place,” he tells him. “Thought so as soon as I came in.”

Ed smiles, and it’s amazing, really, the way his face lights up at the compliment. “Thanks, man, yeah, Iz thought I spent too much on the decor, but how often do you open the place of your dreams? Really just went for it.”

“It’s perfect,” Stede agrees.

A comfortable lull falls over their conversation, and Stede takes another small sip of his wine for something to do. He must make a face, though, because Ed’s shaking his head when he looks back up.

“Think what you should do is let me make you some tea, if you’re staying,” he says.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do all that. I really should be—”

“—Would be nice if you stayed,” Ed finishes.

Oh.

“Well, if you don’t mind all this,” Stede says, gesturing to his face. He can’t imagine he looks any worse than he had earlier in the bathroom, but he can’t be making a good first impression, either.

“Nah, you’re good. Most interesting person to come in here in…forever,” Ed says. “Be right back,” he promises, disappearing into what must be the kitchen and coming back a few minutes later, with the promised mug of steaming water and a selection of tea bags for Stede.

He’s touched. Sure, Ed owns the place, but still, he didn’t have to go out of his way to make Stede tea for his stupid cold.

The mug has the Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill logo on it, emblazoned across a pirate flag, and the warmth of it warms Stede right through immediately.

“Mint sounds nice,” he says, grabbing it and letting it steep. He makes the mistake of lifting the mug to his face, the steam immediately shaking something loose in his sinuses, and ends up sneezing another good few times in a row.

“hd’ISCHuh! Eh’sschIEW! ii’Tiishh’uh! SNF!” Stede takes two more tissues from the pack in his pocket, realizing that he’s down to just one left, and grimaces.

“God bless you,” Ed says sympathetically. “Makes it even worse that this guy didn’t show up when you went to all the trouble of coming out, feeling so bad and all.”

“Mm, no trouble. I did have a friend help with the outfit, though,” Stede admits. “One of my first dates after a divorce and all, needed some help.”

“Good on them, then, that color’s perfect for you,” Ed tells him, and he sounds like he means it.

Stede gives him a smile but shakes his head. “He did also suggest a hazmat suit.”

This gets a laugh from Ed, and it’s a lovely sound, one Stede wishes he had the time to get used to.

Ed seems to realize something all at once. “Wait, did you say first date?”

Stede sinks in his seat a little bit as he nods. “One of the first,” he says. “Though it always feels like the first after fifteen years of marriage to a woman, anyway. Suppose I’m something of a late bloomer,” Stede admits, feeling his face go warm. “Probably too late.”

Ed softens at this, the surprise on his face washing away. “No such thing as too late, mate. Look at me, I came out at fifteen and look at me, alone with my cat and my bar. Don’t even have a divorce to blame it on.”

For some reason, this makes Stede’s throat go tight, his eyes stinging with tears. God, he cannot cry because one stranger was being nice to him.

“Here,” Ed says, pulling a deep red handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Stede with a nod and a small smile and turning away, giving him a minute of privacy. “You probably need this more than I will tonight,” he says.

Stede dabs at his eyes, appreciating Ed’s kindness all the more.

Stede takes a few deep, steadying breaths and sips his tea as other customers come and go, as Izzy appears and disappears with another disapproving shake of his head, and through it all, Ed always makes his way back to Stede’s end of the bar, offering him more tea, more water, another story or picture of Frank when things slow back down.

All at once, Stede realizes that he’s having a better time than he’d ever expected to, even if David had bothered to show up for their date.

“What’s that face, mate? You’re looking like you did when you first came over…oh, fuck, like two hours ago,” Ed says, looking at the time.

“Two human hours?” Stede gasps. It’d gone by so fast he hadn’t even noticed, though he is definitely more tired now than he’d been before.

Ed laughs again and Stede wants to bottle the sound of it. He really must be delirious from this cold.

“Human hours,” Ed confirms.

“You know, I think I’m actually glad he didn’t show up? It’s been so lovely talking to you, Ed,” Stede says.

“Same goes,” Ed says with another one of his warm smiles. “This is the most fun I’ve had at work in ages, maybe ever.”

This feels like the best first date Stede’s ever been on, though he keeps that thought to himself, along with a firm reminder that this is definitely not a date.

Another hour passes in the blink of an eye, and Stede shifts in his seat, the tell tale twinge somewhere in the back of his sinuses letting him know that very soon, he’s going to need more tissues than he has at the moment. He really should be getting home and into bed, starting the process of sleeping off this wretched cold. Though, as miserable as he feels, the night hadn’t been a total loss after all, thanks to Ed.

“Well,” Stede says, sniffling, “I think I’d better get home. If my eyes get any heavier I’ll be asleep right here on your bar, and no one wants that.” He’d intended it to come across as a joke, but his voice is so wrecked from this cold and the all too recent tears that it comes out just as run down and, frankly, sad as he feels.

“Mm, yeah, no, might get a crick in your neck,” Ed says, as if that’s the only problem with what Stede said, and not the million and one sick person germs he’d be leaving behind. He smiles at Stede, the way he has been the whole night, while making him laugh, while making him feel better about being stood up, while pouring him drinks he claimed were on the house.

“Exactly,” Stede says, returning the smile. His head really does feel heavy though, his sinuses throbbing with the cold he’d pushed off and ignored for far too long tonight. He pictures his bed, a safe haven despite its emptiness, and stands up before he can change his mind. He’s strangely reluctant to leave Ed, funny, kind Ed, but it’s really for the best, leaving before Stede gets one of his crazy ideas. Like thinking that Ed could possibly, actually like him.

It’s Ed’s job to be nice to strangers, Stede reminds himself.

He’s just doing his job.

“Well,” Stede begins. “Thank you, again, truly, for being so nice to me tonight. I’ve been quite a mess and this … really helped,” he says, too honestly, he’s sure of it, given the way his eyes sting and his sore throat thickens with the threat of yet more tears. God, he really does have to get out of here.

Ed looks at him, his gaze lingering on Stede’s face. The restaurant’s emptying out now, people finishing the last of their glasses of wine, letting their dates wind down before they head home, and Stede feels that familiar twinge in his gut, a mix of jealousy and longing. It would be nice to go home with someone, that’s all. Or home to someone.

The sound of Ed’s voice breaks him out of his pathetic thought spiral.

“You’ll have to let me know when you get home,” Ed says, sliding his phone onto the bar and over to Stede. “Can’t have you falling asleep at the wheel, I’d never forgive myself.” He gives Stede an encouraging little smile before turning to grab an empty glass a few feet away.

“Oh, I barely drank anything! I’ll be alright, I promise, you don’t need to worry about me,” Stede says. He’s a very safe driver, even with his cold-foggy head, he can make the fifteen minute drive home no problem, and he really had only taken a few sips of the wine two hours ago.

Ed turns back around to face him, amusement written across his face. “M’trying to get your number here, mate,” he says simply, as if it’s nothing, and not something that has never—literally never—happened to Stede Bonnet.

“Oh,” Stede says, face flushing as he realizes.

Ed just lifts his phone and unlocks it, handing it to Stede again. “For safety reasons,” he says with a wink.

Stede enters his number with hands that feel, suddenly, a little shaky, adds his name, and hands the phone back to Ed.

“Stede Bonnet (from the bar)” Ed reads out, smirking. “Thank god you specified, now I won’t get you confused with all the Stede Bonnets I’ve met elsewhere…”

“Oh, well, I didn’t— I just thought…” Stede tries.

“S’all good, Stede, really. There we go…” He types something and nods and Stede’s own phone lights up immediately.

Stede reads the message: Edward Teach (Born on the beach)

“Were you actually?” He asks, intrigued.

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” Ed says mysteriously. “You’ll have to find out. Over dinner or something. Not here,” he adds. “When you’re feeling up for it.”

Stede’s pretty sure all the DayQuil he’d been chugging all day has caught up with him, because there’s simply no way this is happening to him right now, not when he looks and feels like this. Ed is gorgeous, all warm, dark skin under his tattoos, his salt and pepper hair falling out of his half ponytail just a little at this point, the rest hanging over his shoulders. Not to mention the perfect, deep brown eyes that Stede’s been entirely too captivated by all evening, it’s…

It’s too good to be true, surely. It’s too much.

“Sorry, too much?” Ed says, reading his mind. “I have a tendency to come on a little strong, or so I’ve been told.”

“No!” Stede says quickly. “Not at all, you’re perfect. This just… doesn’t happen to me,” he confesses. “And I’ve been sniffling and sneezing at you all evening, and you’re so, well handsome… and…” He trails off again helplessly.

“And so are you,” Ed says easily. “And hey, if you manage to look this good when you feel this bad, I’m going to be fucking in for it next time, aren’t I?” He winks again. “You really should go, though, you look dead on your feet, and you’ve been through it tonight. Not to mention listening to me rambling all night,” he grins.

Stede nods. “I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, smiling down at his phone. He’ll collapse into bed, and text Ed, and let him be sweet and kind to him and wish him a goodnight.

And, for once, Stede’s confident that these texts won’t go unanswered.

“Holding you to that,” Ed says. “Goodnight, Stede Bonnet from the bar.”

Stede’s still smiling when he unlocks his front door and sends the promised text to Ed.

The next morning, Stede has a few texts waiting for him.

Lucius: Sign of life check, hellooo?? What ended up happening last night???

Edward Teach (Born on the beach): Morning, Stede from the bar, hope you’re not feeling too bad! If you want I could…bring you breakfast on the way into work this morning? If you don’t mind giving a strange man your address, that is

David: So sorry! I overscheduled myself last night, can we try again next week?

Stede deletes the text from David, then deletes his number all together. Good riddance.

He promises Lucius he’s alive, just sick, and promises to call him later to fill him in. This leads to a flurry of new texts full of question marks and eye emojis.

Stede: Good morning, Ed! Thank you again for last night. And you’re hardly a “strange man” after that! I really did have a wonderful time in spite of it all. I do feel pretty gross this morning, though :( Can we raincheck breakfast to one we can have…together?

Edward Teach (Born on the beach): I’d love that

#don't mind me essentially remixing my own fic into a sickfic #throwing everything i love into it #crying and colds and fun texting and lots of dialogue and sneaking in canon quotes and topping it all off with an olivia rodrigo lyric titl #my fic #of//md #sicktember

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