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alifeasvivid · 1 month

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A Feast for the Fae; a ukus faerie tale

:D this was commissioned by @ok-scans. They asked for smut and the supernatural with virgin Alfred, so here it is. Thank you so much!!

Rating: Explicit Warnings: major age gap: centuries old immortal faerie + 18 year old human Tags: fae!Arthur, human!Alfred, smut, intoxication, ambiguous non-modern fantasy setting Summary: Alfred has been selected as his village's sacrifice to the Fae King, to be eaten at the Beltane Festival. It's up to Arthur to stop it from happening. Word Count: ~3200

“What is your name?” the hushed words slide into the boy’s ear and down his spine as easily as the wine had slid down his throat. Arthur leans in close enough to see the summer sky in the human’s eyes, though it is the witching hour now, in the glen, with the full moon sighing softly on them.

The boy grins. “Alfred!” he declares as if it’s a surprise even to himself. He drinks greedily from the goblet full of Arthur’s wine. The two of them are sat on a large, flat rock before a crackling fire, though Alfred is at every moment about to topple off of it.

Arthur’s glittering emerald eyes flash as he surveys the sun-drenched fields that are the boy’s body, rich and ready for harvest. Alfred is far less a boy now than when they met, for certain, but that smile will always first belong to the little human child that had fully enchanted Arthur thirteen years ago. He hadn’t known the truth about Alfred back then.

Alfred giggles and grins and swirls his cup, he blushes, but it’s certainly not with embarrassment. He’s naked as the day he was born, after the head mage of the village led him out here.

Arthur pours him some more wine and kisses Alfred’s forehead. He has no right to do any of this, yet nothing in the world is going to stop him from doing it. Only last year, when Alfred had turned eighteen, had Arthur learnt that he had been chosen at birth to be his village’s sacrifice to the faerie king upon the Beltane following his eighteenth birthday. Being a summer child, Alfred is nearly nineteen now—and that is fortunate because Arthur had needed the time.

Perhaps Arthur really has become soft. He has spent several centuries with humans at this point, more time than he has spent in Fae, namely with witches and mages, which is how he met Alfred. The witch with whom Arthur lived and worked hired Alfred’s mother as a live-in maid in an arrangement which benefitted them both greatly.

Supposedly, faeries cannot feel love, but if these feelings—the urgent compulsion to save Alfred from being eaten at the Beltane feast, the way he withers at the thought of never seeing his smile again, the desperate want to keep the boy all for himself and make sure he is always happy—are not love then Arthur does not really know what else to call it.

But he is not the faerie king. He is one of the faerie king’s subjects—and a low born one at that, so he has spent all this time, this grace period as it were, trying to find some way to save Alfred.

He has found out there are several criteria that must be met, having much to do with time and place of birth, of parentage, of innate magical energies… nothing can be done for any of those.

But the sacrifice must be un-taken, that is to say, still having their true name so that they can give it to the faerie king… and, to also say, they must be a virgin.

Beltane is three days away and the fae court will come to collect him at dawn, so Arthur has only until the end of the witching hour to… to—oh gods… is it a terrible thing? not that Arthur doesn’t want to claim him. Alfred has grown up so well and he is such a good hearted lad, but that’s what makes it worse. He would rather have Alfred come to him freely.

Perhaps that crush Alfred seems to have been harboring for him signals deeper feelings. The situation is still not ideal, but needs must. “No, pet. I want your true name,” Arthur says, cupping Alfred’s face in his hands and lacing the words with the appropriate spell of taking.

Alfred hiccups. “Can’t give ya that, Arthur, You’re not the king! You’re just a faerie witch.” The situation was only partly explained to Alfred: the part about being made the centerpiece of the Beltane feast being left out.

Arthur winces, knowing Alfred doesn’t mean that how it sounds. Arthur knows well enough that he isn’t “just” anything to Alfred. “Oh?” he says. “How do you know I’m not?” he says in a suggestive tone. It’s not a lie at all, just a question. “What if I had been all this time?”

Falling for the trick perfectly, willing to believe more than anything else that he is meant to belong to Arthur, Alfred’s eyes widen in glee. “Wow! Really!? That’s so good, oh that’s so good, I’m really glad. Yeah! You can have it, it’s Alfred Franklin Jones.”

Arthur’s palms and the back of his neck and the tip of his nose all tingle with energy. It has been quite some time since he has taken anyone’s true name. There hasn’t been one he wanted or needed in so long. Alfred is his now, forever… and can never be truly free again, but it’s certainly better than spending eternity in the bellies of the members of the faerie high court. Arthur can’t help himself then and he surges forward and kisses Alfred deeply.

Alfred responds ecstatically, pulling himself into Arthur's arms. He giggles and whines as Arthur kisses him, tossing his head back as Arthur’s lips paint his cheek, his neck, and then his shoulders. The wine sparkles in his brain and he’s so relieved that Arthur has been the one for him this whole time—just as he has wanted for so long.

Arthur enchants a bed of soft leaves and sweet grass for them and wastes no time in pitching Alfred into it. Seeing the human splayed out in it, the firelight dancing on his skin while the moonlight gently caresses him, Arthur is more enraptured than ever. He kneels between Alfred’s legs and smooths his hands over the boy’s body. Alfred is tall and most of his chores had been rough, manual labor, leaving him tan and well-muscled… with a little bit of softness in his stomach since he was often compensated with food and Arthur only wants him more the more he is able to touch.

A Beltane feast indeed.

Alfred squirms and laughs as Arthur’s palms traverse his body and leave tickles in their wake. The tickling sensation soon reveals something more urgent: his cock hard and twitching and aching for Arthurs pale, elegant hands. “Arthur…”

Arthur leans down and kisses his forehead again. “Yes, love?”

“Am I your bride?” he asks with a bit of a slur due to the fae wine. “Is that why I was promised to you?”

Arthur laughs fondly. “Silly boy. Is that what you want?” He drags his finger along the underside of Alfred’s cock, pressing it just below the head and rubbing. “Do you want to be my bride?”

Alfred wriggles in pleasure and nods, feeling warm and happy as he does. “Yes.”

Arthur won’t completely dismiss the idea that it’s just the wine talking, but even still, he feels a possessive, toothy snarl deep in the parts of him that are still feral and truly fae, despite the many years he has spent with humans. “Shall this be our wedding night, then?” he purrs, magic making short work of removing his own clothes.

Alfred nods again, more emphatically this time. He shifts and spreads his legs wider and can’t help but wrap his hand around his cock, stroking it and smearing pre-cum all over. Seeing Arthur undressed, Alfred releases himself in favor of petting at Arthur’s flawless, fair skin that nearly glows in the moonlight. He smiles giddily as he wanders into Arthur’s eyes, which still flash green in the firelight as if lighted from inside.

Not once does he pause to consider any concerns, the fae wine has driven them all from his mind. And it doesn’t matter anyway; this is what he has wanted for so long. The wine may have freed him from inhibition, but it certainly did not cause him to desire Arthur. He had been besotted with Arthur since they first met and with the first blossomings of maturity, the infatuation deepened… and darkened. But Alfred has never feared it.

Since childhood, Alfred has noticed the way other humans regard Arthur warily, but everything about him that has always unnerved so many others—his pointed ears; his piercing eyes that see through everyone; his fair and flawless skin accentuating fine, almost intolerably beautiful features; and, of course, the unsettling sharpness of both his incisors—are all the things that draw Alfred to him. He has never once felt unsafe with Arthur.

He certainly doesn’t feel unsafe now.

Arthur purrs as he pours his body flush against Alfred’s, claiming the boy’s mouth with his tongue and nips from his fangs. He rolls his hips against Alfred’s, groaning and drinking in Alfred’s wanton gasp at the same time. His wings, which he so rarely has cause or energy to manifest, spring outward, delicate and shimmering green-gold, pulsing with sparks of glittering red in the firelight to indicate the flush of power from taking Alfred’s name as well as the arousal coursing through him.

Alfred catches Arthur off-guard when he leans up, the bed of grass following him, supporting him. Arthur is stand on his knees, the perfect height for Alfred’s mouth to pull him in from this angle. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s hips and nuzzles his cheeks against the faerie’s cock, then kisses the tip of it over and over. “You’re so beautiful, I’ve wanted you so bad forever,” Alfred murmurs with heart-wrenching sincerity. He continues kissing lightly, flicking little kitten-licks in the slit of Arthur’s cock.

Alfred is clearly operating off of whatever simply feels good to him and that gives Arthur every reason to do the same. He grabs the base of his cock with one hand and the back of Alfred’s head with the other, carefully guiding himself into Alfred’s throat. It feels even more wonderful than he had imagined it would. Combing one hand back through Alfred’s hair, Arthur uses just a little magic to make sure he stays relaxed. “Yes,” he huffs, “yes, good boy.”

Alfred moans in bliss as Arthur rocks into him just barely. The head of Arthur’s cock knocks gently against the top of Alfred’s throat and with the heaviness settled on his tongue, it feels amazing. He does his best to rub his tongue along the underside of it while learning very quickly how to suck it in just the right ways to make Arthur make the best sounds.

A century or so of celibacy has done just enough to increase Arthur’s sensitivity and the way Alfred looks up at him, adoring and also hungry, along with just how utterly enchanted he is with the human all compel him to pull away. Letting Alfred pleasure him with his mouth is not enough; Alfred must experience orgasm from stimulation by someone other than himself in order to no longer qualify as a virgin.

Whining at being denied, Alfred is placated by Arthur’s fingers caressing him, gently pushing him back down. “Arthur…” he pleads softly, shifting and spreading his legs further still, not even knowing exactly what it is he’s asking for, just that he wants Arthur closer.

“Gods, you are so lovely, Alfred,” Arthur praises, beginning to follow his hands with his lips, more and more until he laces his fingers with Alfred’s and kisses him everywhere he possibly can. Alfred gasps and sighs now, but doesn’t laugh anymore from ticklishness.

Alfred writhes, instinctively lifting his hips, and spasming around an emptiness he’d never realized he’d had until now. He cries when Arthur strokes his tongue along his cock and throws his arm over his face, since seeing Arthur do it is too much to bear.

“Look at me, pet,” the faerie insists, using a bit of magic to compel Alfred to do it. “That’s it, good boy.” Arthur only takes Alfred into his mouth all the way once and then repositions himself to lie between the human’s legs. The bed of flowers and leaves raises Alfred’s hips to give Arthur a better angle while Arthur easily lifts Alfred’s thighs up and out. A fang-baring grin spreads over his face as he rubs two fingers at Alfred’s entrance; those fingers conjure a slick, honey-like substance from out of thin air to help Alfred relax and make him easier to open.

Alfred arches and cries out as Arthur presses one finger into him. His hands pull at the leaves and sweet grasses beneath him, which hold fast. Arthur pushes it in and out for what seems like ages before he adds another, stretching Alfred open. There it is, the emptiness he hadn’t felt until now and only Arthur can fill it. “More,” he sobs. “More, Arthur, please.”

Alfred is well known for being impatient and ordinarily Arthur would take great pleasure in denying him, in teaching him how to move slowly, but there is a tickling clock on their tryst. Arthur has scarcely more patience than Alfred at this moment anyway. He nuzzles Alfred’s cock as he continues to open him, inhaling the scent of a human, green and fresh, but musky with arousal; he has almost never been close enough to Alfred to revel in the scent of him like this. He has three fingers inside Alfred now, as far in as they will go, and he makes certain that Alfred is slick, each stroke of his fingers producing more lubricant.

Alfred’s eyes are squeezed shut as Arthur works him open and he releases his grip on the plants that are their makeshift bed to weave one hand in Arthur’s soft hair, holding on tightly. He wriggles around the wetness now inside him, around Arthur’s fingers. He twists enough that Arthur’s fingers start massaging his prostate and— “AH! Oh Arthur, Arthur, please more. Right there, more.”

Arthur’s wings flutter rapidly as he watches Alfred come apart so freely under his touch. The fire has burned to its embers, giving the moon unbound license to Alfred’s perfect skin. Arthur thrusts his fingers in and out, faster, a frenzied need to make Alfred come just from this pricking at the edges of his mind. He wants to see Alfred come. He pumps in and out, faster, far more dexterous than a human could ever be. “There?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

Alfred nods, biting his lip hard and drowning in a sea of fae wine and moonlight and utter devotion to the faerie he has loved since he was a little boy. “Yes, there, please—I—!” That sea takes him under and his body pulls taut and he comes, begging broken syllables of Arthur’s name for more, to never stop.

Arthur must stop, reluctantly, and only does so once Alfred’s body is quivering from the exertion. He’s trembling a little himself from merely being privileged to witness Alfred’s pleasure. It is delicious, both magically, and, as he leans down to lick Alfred’s cock clean, physically. Alfred is now wet and loosened well and the terms of taking his virginity have been satisfied, but Arthur still wants.

“Arthur,” Alfred slurs, “I’m… I’m…nnnnnggh empty. Please.”

Something powerful and sure and dark at the edges curls around Arthur’s mind and forms a heart where he had nothing before. “Yes, you are. Fear not, pet, I’ll take care of you.” Leaning up and over Alfred, wings beating softly, Arthur kisses his forehead, then his cheeks and his nose and then his mouth, deeply, drinking more magic from the pure, pulsing sunlight that suffuses Alfred’s every cell and earned him the “honor” of being the Beltane sacrifice. With one decisive move, he sinks is cock into Alfred’s entrance. It is absolute bliss: Alfred is loose enough that he yields wonderfully, but so tight, squeezing Arthur with warmth and undiluted desire.

Alfred sighs, hums, moans contentedly as Arthur fills him. Of course, Arthur fits perfectly inside him, it could never have been otherwise. When his body pulses now, it is to pull Arthur in, to hold him, and there is no more emptiness. In the aftermath of his first orgasm, he is pliant and sweet and welcoming. He wraps his arms around Arthur's neck, feeling more in love with him than ever, and doesn’t even notice his own cock getting hard again.

Arthur moves slowly at first, letting the moon rock him against Alfred like the tide. He kisses Alfred over and over and reaches down to stroke his cock. “Good boy,” he murmurs next to Alfred’s temple. “Such a good boy for me.”

Alfred’s eyes roll back as the head of Arthur’s cock strikes his prostate again and again, accurately, but far too languidly. Arthur doesn’t pull out very far, but it’s enough that Alfred can feel and hear how slick Arthur made him. “I love you,” he sighs.

At that, Arthur drives into him harder, a little faster. “I know, pet. I’m so very glad you do.” He watches Alfred’s face, but the human shows no distress at his confession not being reciprocated, if anything, he seems more blissful than before. He begins thrusting in and out of Alfred’s willing body even faster, pumping the boy’s cock and letting the pleasure build up between them. “You are so lovely,” he says; it would be breathless except that Arthur doesn’t breathe.

Alfred orgasms again in no time at all, being young and inexperienced and sensitive, he cries out, begging Arthur for more, to move faster, to never stop.

Arthur rolls his hips in a staccato rhythm, melting at the way Alfred’s body grips him and pulls him in, holds him tightly. Whatever magic forms his makeshift heart receives Alfred’s unadulterated love and feeds on it. This is how Alfred should be feasted upon, Arthur thinks distantly. He comes, plunged all the way inside Alfred, quivering violently due to his own sensitivity, and he buries his face in Alfred’s neck as he fills him with cum. “Beautiful,” he groans, scraping his fangs against Alfred’s skin when he kisses and sucks marks into it, without drawing blood. He’s careful not to draw blood. They might smell blood.

Alfred arches and squirms as Arthur fills him in hot spurts that seem to be endless. But eventually, Arthur falls into the leafy bed next to them—the leaves and sweet grasses having morphed into ferns, royal and maidenhair. Alfred tucks himself against Arthur, head under his chin and admires his wings for the first time, though he dares not touch.

The witching hour is nearly over. Arthur holds Alfred protectively, though Alfred’s body has already been blessed with a spell that cannot be undone to make him ready for Beltane and it cannot be taken back just because he no longer has his name or his virginity. Arthur knows there will be consequences for himself. They can’t kill him and he is bonded to Alfred, so they can’t keep them apart. They could, however, curse his feet to burn with each step or make him feel stabbing pain when Alfred touches him or any number of other cruel and capricious things.

Or they might do nothing at all. The high court fae are fickle and strange like that.

It doesn’t matter. Alfred is safe and whatever happens, Arthur will keep him that way. He will keep him forever.

#ukus #usuk fanfic #spadian ballad #reblogs are love

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lotr-sesa · 5 months

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TWO WEEKS left to post LotR SeSa prompts!

We're halfway through the prompt posting period, which means there's two weeks left to post your prompts! Come join us for the twentieth round of SeSa fun! ❤️

You can find all the important details in this post.

The key dates are as follows:

Prompt Posting: November 1st to 30th .

Claiming: December 1st to 31st.

Collection Open for Posting: December 1st to 31st

All Fills Due: December 31st.

The signup form is HERE.

A note on claiming: While it's great that people have found prompts they like, we'd like to remind everyone that the claiming period begins in December. November is for prompting, December is for claiming and posting. :)

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thrawns-backrest · 3 months

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more of these two because I love them to death

also watch out, he's plotting murder. is there an intentional resemblance to a certain fallen angel painting? you bet there is

#vader and the ghost prison #vader comics #laurita tohm #shonn volta #tohm x volta #star wars #star wars comics #my art #reblogs are love

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iam93percentstardust · 2 years

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Happy birthday Alle! If you're still taking prompts, I love your fluffy established relationship fics and would love to read some married shenanigans!

Thanks for the prompt! I love working on this so much!

Shout out to @therollingstonys for all but holding my hand through writing this <3

1. Hogan’s Pub

He’s pretty, is the first thing Steve notices about him. Slender and lithe; dark brown hair that Steve could see himself running his hands through, gripping tight as he thrusts into him; big eyes that he wants to see hazy with the pleasure that only Steve can bring him; pretty pink lips that would look just perfect sucking on Steve’s fingers—or other things.

He’s pretty, and Steve can’t stop himself from picking up his drink and cutting his way through the crowd to the man’s side, people automatically moving out of his way without too much of a fuss. He’s a big guy, after all, and he’s been told he exudes the sort of strength that just makes people move for him. Truth be told, it makes him a little uncomfortable—he wasn’t always so big and strong, after all; the change has taken some getting used to—but if it gets him closer to this captivating man, then Steve is willing to take advantage of everything he can.

Steve raises a hand to catch the bartender’s attention, waiting patiently while she finishes up with another customer. “Another—” he begins and then glances at the man’s drink. “Another whiskey for Bambi over here.”

“Bambi, huh?” the man says, turning around so that his back’s to the bar. “And what if that’s not my name?”

“I figured it wouldn’t be,” Steve says easily. “But pretty doe eyes like that? What else could I call you?”

“Tony,” he replies, a pleased smile and a pink blush crossing his face. “You can call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Steve repeats, enjoying the way it feels on his tongue. “Beautiful name for a beautiful man.”

Gratifyingly, Tony’s blush deepens. He takes a sip of his whiskey to hide it, but Steve still catches a glimpse of the way his pretty cheeks are glowing behind the glass.

“So what about you, handsome?” Tony asks, tilting his glass in Steve’s direction. “Do I get a name to go with those all-American good looks?”

Tony runs his hand down Steve’s arm, stealing his breath away. Gasping at the light touch, Steve manages to say, “Steve. I—yeah.”

“Steve,” Tony purrs. “Looks like I was right. All-American name, all-American grade-A beef, hmm?”

Steve makes a strangled sound. Tony’s cat-that-caught-the-canary grin widens, making him look less like the cat that caught the canary and more like the cat that got the canary, the cream, and the tuna for supper too.

“I—uh—do you want to come home with me?” Steve suggests. The light in Tony’s eyes dim just a little, and he quickly adds, “Or a hotel? I’m… easy.” He winces at the way that came out.

But if he was hoping for a laugh, he’s sorely disappointed. Tony’s smile disappears altogether, replaced with a regretful expression. He holds up his left hand, revealing a pretty red and gold band gleaming on his ring finger.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Married.”

“Oh,” Steve says, disappointed. He glances around, looking to see if anyone is watching them. But it seems like they exist in a little bubble, all their own, so he lowers his voice and says, “But they’re not here right now, are they?”

Tony bites his lip. Steve’s breath hitches, gaze zeroing in on that abused lip. He wants to be the one biting it, bringing it to that pretty red color he can see in his mind’s eye. “Well, no, but—”

“So you could come with me anyway,” Steve says, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate. “They would never have to know.”

“I—”

“Come on, Bambi. Bet I could make you—”

“He said no.”

The words are so harsh, so jarring that it takes Steve a moment to realize Tony wasn’t the one who said them. He blinks up at the bartender, who’s scowling at them.

“I—what?”

The bartender’s scowl deepens. “I don’t care how flirty he was being,” she snaps. “He said no, and you will respect that.”

“What?”

At his side, Tony bursts into delighted laughter. “It’s alright—” He leans forward and checks her nametag. “Belle. Steve actually is my husband, but I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Oh!” Belle says, looking flustered. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Not your fault,” Tony says, waving her off. “We wanted to try a little roleplaying and thought we’d try a different bar than our usual to make it more real. Clearly we should have just stuck around O’Malley’s, huh.”

At that, Belle straightens up. “Absolutely not. We’ve got the best service this side of Manhattan.” She gives them another sheepish look. “Sorry for interrupting, but you can’t be too careful, you know? Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do. Have a nice night.” Tony watches her bustle off to the other end of the bar before turning back to Steve, who’s still a little shell-shocked. “Now then, handsome, where were we?”

“Nope,” Steve says immediately, shaking himself out of his stupor. He thinks about the expression on Belle’s face and shudders again. “Can’t do it. Got taken out of the scene too much.”

“Aww,” Tony coos, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist. “Poor baby. You wanna go home and just have plain old boring sex with no role playing? You can fold me in half like a pretzel”

And fuck does Steve want to.

2. The Plaza Hotel

Tony straightens up from where he was bent over his suitcase when the door opens. He hasn’t gotten around to turning the lights on yet, not when the arc reactor is enough light all its own, even through his dark shirt, and there’s someone outlined in the light pouring in from the hallway. They’re big—bigger than Tony at least—and he surreptitiously activates the wrist gauntlet, hiding it from view with the sides of the suitcase. He doesn’t know whether they’re an assassin or HYDRA or—

“I’m sorry, but I think you’re in my room,” the person says awkwardly.

—or just someone who’s lost and no doubt confused.

The person steps inside, the door swinging closed behind them, and wow. Tony lets his gaze travel over blond hair and blue eyes and the shoulder to waist ratio of a Dorito, Jesus fucking Christ. This must be his lucky day, if he can convince them to stick around.

“Can’t be your room,” he says, snapping his wrist to fold the gauntlet away. The person’s eyes catch on the motion, watching the gauntlet disappear. His pupils dilate, and Tony bites back a smirk. Got him already, hook, line, and sinker.

He finishes, “It’s already mine.”

“Right,” the man stammers, still staring at the gauntlet watch. “But my keycard worked, and I was told this room by the front desk, so—”

Tony sighs. “They must have messed up the room numbers,” he groans.

“Oh.” The man jerks his thumb at the door. “I can go, see if they’ve got a different room for me.”

“Don’t bother,” Tony replies. “Hotel’s booked full for the conference this week.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for. Look, I can find another hotel. You got here first, and—” He nearly swallows his tongue when Tony licks his lips. Tony can’t hold back the smirk this time.

He prowls closer, moving into the man’s space. “Or,” he purrs, “I’m sure we can share. I don’t take up a lot of room, after all. Might even be…” He slides his hand around the man’s waist to his back, drawing a quiet gasp from him. “Fun.”

“Fun,” the man breathes. Tony’s cock stirs in his pants. Fuck, but he’s gorgeous. Tony could just eat him up, and he wouldn’t regret a single second of it. A small, dark corner of his mind wonders how he tastes—he’d bet he’s delicious.

“Yeah, handsome. You’ve heard of it before, right?” He slides his knee between the man’s legs, breath hitching when he feels how hard the man is already. He’s big, and Tony can only imagine how good he’s going to feel inside him.

“Mmhmm.”

Tony urges him into a slow rhythm, hips rolling against each other. “So you got a name, handsome, to go with all that muscle? Something I can call you when you fuck me?”

“You—you’d want that?”

“Yeah, I do. Be a shame to waste something like this, wouldn’t it?” He slides his hand back around to the man’s front, cupping his cock. Leaning up, he breathes over his lips, “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“…Steve.”

Tony rewards that with a kiss, slow and lingering, licking between Steve’s lips. Steve tastes like the cherry candy they had at the front desk, and Tony can’t resist darting his tongue back in for another kiss. Steve moans, hands finally coming up to clasp Tony’s hips, holding them against each other.

Tony starts backing them up toward the bed, kissing Steve again. He’s sweet, clearly a little out of his depth, but more than willing to let Tony lead him exactly where he wants to go. And, oh, the places Tony would like to take him. He just—

BEEP!

Tony stills, looking towards his suitcase. He’d made sure to turn everything off before coming here, not wanting another interruption. His phone rings again, drawing a groan from him.

“You better answer that,” Steve says ruefully, already pulling away.

“I told Pepper only for emergencies,” Tony says waspishly, digging his phone out from underneath a few toys he’d brought for the night. “JARVIS was only supposed to let her through in case it was actually important.”

Steve sits down on the edge of the bed. “So maybe it’s actually important then?”

“Sure it is,” Tony scoffs. “It’s probably another form she wants me to—what is it?”

It turns out it’s not another form. R&D caught on fire apparently, and while no one was hurt, the building was still evacuated and Tony is still expected to make an appearance.

He shoots Steve an apologetic look as he grabs his coat from the closet.

“I’ll be back when I can,” he says.

“Sure,” Steve says, flapping his hand. He’s already laying back on the bed, eyes closed. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Tony is going to kill whoever set that fire.

3. American Society for Engineering Education Annual Conference

“So, do you come here often?” Steve winces as soon as he says it. The incredulous look on the man’s face tells him it probably wasn’t very well-received either.

“Really?” the man demands. “All the lines in the world and you go with that one? That’s terrible.”

“Aren’t all lines terrible?” Steve counters, the thought of an argument starting to get his blood pumping. He likes arguments, and from the gleam in the man’s eyes, he thinks he might like arguments too.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some of them are lines for a reason.” The man crosses his arms over a graphic t-shirt—some quote that Steve doesn’t recognize about engineers doing it better. “Come on, gimme your best shot, handsome.”

And Steve can’t get resist a challenge like that, so he doesn’t even try. “I really like that beard of yours,” he says, eyeing the elaborate Van Dyke style. It must take a lot of time and upkeep to keep such a well-trimmed beard. “Love to know what it feels like on my cheeks.”

“Better,” the man allows. “But you could just grow the beard yourself, you know, and then you’d have your answer.”

“Hmm not those cheeks.”

The man’s jaw drops, eyes darting down Steve’s body and then back up as they darken gratifyingly. “I—” he begins, sounding strangled. He stops, clears his throat, and then tries again. “Um, yeah, I can—uh—hmm.”

Steve lets a slow grin spread across his face. “So, what do you say we—”

“Wow, Mr. Captain America Sir.”

Steve stops short as the kid—undergrad, if he had to make a guess—runs up to them. He blinks at the kid, suddenly wondering if he ever looked that young. He probably did, he thinks ruefully, remembering how small he’d been when he was that age.

The kid suddenly realizes that Tony’s standing there too and exclaims, just as loudly, “And Mr. Iron Man Sir!”

It draws the attention of more than a few people who had been looking at the posters hung up around the hall, but are now eyeing the two of them with interest. Steve sighs at his husband and pulls his ring out of his pocket, already knowing that they’re going to be inundated with questions for a long time so there’s no point in keeping it hidden when their role play is over before it even began.

As the kid who first noticed them starts asking for an autograph, he wonders if he even has enough ink in the pen he always keeps on him to handle all the autographs he’ll undoubtedly have to sign tonight. Well, he thinks, oddly happy, not like he and Tony won’t get the chance to try again.

4. The Fuego Club

Tony doesn’t get any further than “Hey, stran—” before both of their Avengers IDs start ringing, a never-ending clamor interrupting their playtime yet again.

Steve reaches for his first, but only manages to shut it off when Doctor Doom comes crashing through the club windows. Glass shatters, and the clubgoers shriek, scattering out of the way. Tony groans, dropping his head onto the table before he lunges to his feet, activating the wrist gauntlet as he does.

Doom himself rises from the glass, hardly looking phased. He catches sight of Steve and Tony, giving the appearance of delighted glee even through the mask as he says, “Happy anniversary! I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

And even as Tony prepares himself to fight, there’s an odd twisting in his stomach that he can’t help but wonder what it is.

5. The Annual Maria Stark Foundation Gala

There’s a man across the ballroom floor who’s been making eyes at Steve for the last hour. He’s pretty sure Natasha would describe him as tall (though not as tall as Steve, not that many people are), dark, and handsome—exactly Steve’s type. Ever since they first locked eyes, he’s been wanting to go over there to talk to him—something tells him the man would welcome it—but he’s been too busy trying to talk the wealthy citizens of New York City into donating to the foundation.

He finally manages to extract himself from Mrs. Covington’s desperate clutches—he’s pretty sure she thinks he’s her last hope of having grandchildren, considering the way she’s been trying to talk up her daughter for the last twenty minutes—and starts making his way across the ballroom.

The man catches him coming and offers him a flirtatious smile, half-hiding it behind a glass of champagne. Steve grins back at him, knowing it probably looks dopey—he’s terrible at flirting—and then almost immediately trips over Clint.

“Steve!” Clint exclaims, eyes lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“What?” Steve says confusedly, glancing back toward the man. He’s been waylaid as well—by Mrs. Covington, no less, and Steve would give anything to know how she made it across the ballroom before he did.

“Look, I need your advice with Laura. Our anniversary’s coming up. You always have the most romantic plans for your anniversaries with Tony, and you know me, I’m the worst at romance. I was hoping you might have some ideas?”

Now completely taken out of the scene, Steve glances at the man—Tony—and gives him a sheepish look. He knows how long it’ll take to get through this conversation with Clint. Clint isn’t kidding, he really is hopeless when it comes to romantic ideas (not that Tony’s any better). It’ll probably be a while before he can extricate himself from this situation.

Tony catches him looking, gaze darting to Clint before he looks back at Steve and shrugs. What else can they do? It’s not like he can just abandon Clint, after all, he tells himself. That’s the only reason he’s not going over there.

+1. JFK International Airport

They’re halfway to the hotel the airline had recommended when the flights were cancelled when Tony realizes he can’t stop staring at Steve’s left hand. There’s a faint tan line there, just barely visible on his ring finger, one that Tony knows matches his own. It looks… wrong, like it should be covered up, like it was something so private that even Tony shouldn’t have seen it.

He flexes his hand, feeling the absence of the cool weight of his own ring. He feels naked without it, and even though it’s just in his pocket, it feels a million miles away right now.

“Tony?” Steve asks, concerned tone a far cry from the aroused one he’d used when Tony had asked if they wanted to share a cab. “Everything okay?”

He’s breaking character, but Tony can only find that he appreciates it.

“I… no,” he finally says, nearly gasps it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he realizes. He’d thought he had, thought that the strangers meeting somewhere would be a hot fantasy, but he’s realizing now that he wants it to stay that way—a fantasy. It should be weird—they’d gotten as far as the bedroom the second time they’d tried this, after all—but he doesn’t want to go through with this anymore. “I don’t want to be strangers. I don’t want to pretend I don’t know you. I married you.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Steve says, immediately pulling his own ring out of his pocket and sliding it on his hand. Tony hurries up and does the same thing. The ring feels right against his skin, as right as it had felt wrong to have it removed. “I thought it was just me getting all relieved that we didn’t have to go through with it those other times.”

“Definitely not,” Tony assures him. He lifts up Steve’s left hand and kisses the ring he’d put there all those years ago. “I thought it would be hot, but I don’t think this is a kink I have.”

“No, me neither,” Steve agrees. “I know you. I’ve known you since I watched you fly into that wormhole. It didn’t feel right to ignore all that history.”

Tony shakes his head.

“But,” Steve says, grinning boyishly at him in that way he knows Tony can’t resist. “Since we’ve got the hotel room and all…”

Tony sees where he’s going with that sentence and kisses him. “Well, it’d just be a waste not to use it when we’ve got the night off from the team and all.”

“Exactly.”

#alle writes #alle answers #stevetony #reblogs are love #if you like please reblog

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welton-spaghetti · 1 year

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Neil and Todd Doodles :P

#dead poets fandom #dead poets #dead poets society #neil and todd #neil perry #todd anderson #anderperry #reblogs are love #my art

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julesdraws · 2 months

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HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY MY FELLOW AROS AND ACES!! <33

#reblogs are love #myart #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #the one and only #and he has so many tagssss gdhjsbd #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor fanart #aroace #aromantic #asexual #valentines day #digital painting #art

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cyberphuck · 1 year

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WRITING COMMISSIONS OPEN ONCE MORE

I just sent a finished fic to another very satisfied customer, so it's time for THIS AGAIN! $100 for at least 2k words. I say “at least” because I often go over, but you won’t get charged for the extra content. You can message me with: A pairing and fandom (if applicable) The kinks or tropes you want to see included The kinks or tropes that are an UGH NO for you The mood of the fic (”I want them to be having a good time” or “I want it all to be very gritty and awful”) Notes on any particular scene you’ve envisioned, if you have one Any other info you might have on the characters or setting that you think would be helpful to share (within reason, I won’t be able to watch ALL of a show or read ALL of a series to get context, but if it’s like “this scene in this episode” then sure, shoot me a link) I may ask some clarifying questions, leave to brainstorm, then come back to ask a few more clarifying questions. Then I will retreat into my writing hole for... eh, about two weeks. Then I emerge, pallid and squinting, into the sunlight, let you know your fic is done. You send payment. I send you the link to your fic. All is well. You can find examples of my work on my AO3!

#writing #commissions #fanfiction #reblogs are love #recs are love

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sterekbros · 2 years

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tell me we'll never get used to this, Sterek

Stiles woke up, startled. He wasn't sure what made him jerk awake, but that whole falling in your sleep thing usually got him when he was having the best sleep of his life. It's been happening often lately, so he shouldn't be surprised. He sighed and put his arm over his eyes, resting his head back on his pillow. He could feel a headache coming on from his lack of sleep from pulling an all-nighter study binge. When he opened his eyes again and looked at the clock, he quickly clambered out of bed. “Oh, shit!” He was late for his advanced Organic Chemistry final! He could not fail this class. He didn't bother to change what he’d worn to bed and grabbed his bag, running out of the room, the door slamming behind him. So much for that coffee and extra study time he’d planned to do this morning.

He stopped abruptly in the dormitory hallway. “What the -” The hallway was completely trashed. There were papers, books, clothing, and a variety of things strewn about haphazardly. He looked around cautiously, then quietly moved to an open door. Stiles pushed it open and the creak made him cringe as it opened all the way. There was no one inside.

He moved to the next door, doing the same. And the next and the next. He pushed open the last door in their hallway. “Hello?” he finally asked quietly. There was no response.

Continue on AO3.

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whatisloveifnotmadness · 2 years

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Anyway, reblog my pics to make tumblr mad 😌😌😌😌

#rose speaks #love and madness #reblogs are love

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flickerbuckley · 2 years

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"Expressing Love" prompts: “ you’re safe with me. you know that, right? “

Hi PoliZ!! I am so sorry this took so long, I uh... Actually I have no excuse my brain just went hmm no words <3. But, here, have a free moodboard as well?

Time's Never Been Our Side (So Would You Wait For Me)

Steve never fails to take Tony’s breath away. A lot of the time, he can't even believe that he's his, that he gets to call this amazing, beautiful man his boyfriend, who's the most kind, generous person he knows.

If Tony ever voiced that, Steve would probably argue with him, saying that with the Maria Stark Foundation, September Foundation and the countless other donations Tony does on the down low, he's light years ahead of Steve.

Tony never fails to take Steve's breath away. This gorgeous, incredible man who could literally have anyone he wants, chose him, chose him to wake up next to, to love and cherish, to fight to come home to. He gets to call this selfless, honourable man his.

If Steve ever voiced that, Tony would probably get a pained, far away look in his eyes, only seeing the lives he's taken as the Merchant of Death, and not the lives he's saved as both Iron Man and Tony Stark. He never wants to be the one to put that look on Tony's face, so he'll settle for the fact that they have the rest of their lives to remind Tony of just how good he is.

Once they had gotten away from the influence of the scepter, being in the same vicinity had been a lot easier. The Mind Stone brought out the worst in them, showcased and highlighted them, when in reality neither of them were worthy of the vitriol they spat out in the heat of the moment.

(Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what are you? The only thing you fight for is yourself.)

The reason they worked so well together was because they push each other, motivate each other to be the best version of themselves.

(You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.)

But even then, when they were at each other's throats, Tony couldn't help noticing Steve's bottomless blue ice, matching the mind stone almost perfectly; shade for shade. Even then, Steve noticed the way the light in the room glinted off of Tony's brown ones, bringing out the flecks of gold.

Once the adrenaline of the battle has worn off, once New York is no longer under the threat of extraterrestrials, once the fear that Tony is dead becomes void, they find they work.

It's not difficult. It's not explosive or violent like it had been in the helicarrier. It's a little more like a river carving out a new path in stone, eventually making it out to sea.

It's a little more like inevitable.

Tony invites them all to live at the Tower and slowly but surely, they all move in. Bruce is the first one, and he and Tony spend entire days working on breakthroughs and experiments. Clint and Natasha, to no one's surprise, move in at the same time, once they've wrapped up a SHIELD sanctioned mission. Steve is the last one to move in. He shows up one day out of the blue, tan leather jacket and all.

There's an adjustment period for all of them, as they used to living with each other, as they get used to each other's peeves, but eventually they find they all mesh.

Team training sessions, having dinner together when they can and movie nights all feature on the list, but what amuses the others the most is that Steve and Tony somehow naturally take on the role of team dad and mom respectively. Of course it's annoying to put up with the pining looks when they think the other isn't looking, but they're SteveandTony, two sides of the same coin, like yin and yang.

They’ll get there eventually; with Natasha's help of course. And eventually, they do. The falling asleep while watching a random movie on Steve's list turns into Steve gently tucking Tony into their bed, before getting in beside him. The Tony sipping coffee sitting cross-legged on the counter top whilst Steve cooks breakfast turns in coffee dates, and breakfast dates, and lunch dates and dinner dates. The hanging out in Tony's lab, Tony working on various projects and Steve sketching away stays the same, though now, Steve knows he can walk up behind Tony and rest his head on Tony's (thoroughly annoying Tony in the process - it will definitely end up with him grumbling about stupid supersoldiers with their stupid serum and their stupid tallness) and wait for Tony to turn around, so he can kiss him breathless.

Needless to say, they still have bad days. They've been through too much for them not to unfortunately. But what matters is that they're there for each other. Tony is there for Steve with the thickest, softest blankets and hot chocolate when he wakes up shaking from nightmares about the ice. Steve is there for Tony with gentle kisses and reassuring touches when he wakes up silently screaming.

It goes like this. Neither of them will want to stay in bed, the duvet that feels so soft at any other time feeling like the heaviest of chains. They'll head down to Tony's lab, a safe haven, and soak up each other's presence whilst Jarvis plays their favourite song, relishing in each other's arms. Tony can feel Steve's heartbeat through his own skin, and Steve can hear the gentle hum of Tony's arc reactor that he's come to associate with home.

But today isn't one of those days. They had fallen into bed exhausted from a mission. It hadn't been very hard, or particularly long at least compared to some of the other missions they've been sent on recently, but it took a lot out of them all the same. They fell asleep curled up around each other, because they always, always sleep better when they know the other is near.

Tony wakes up slowly, a rarity these days, and finds Steve already looking at him, a fond look on his face. His lips quirk up into a smile, and Steve's pops out too, automatic, matching his. Steve traces the outline of the bruises Tony still has from the fight, from being bashed around a little too much in the suit, a weird expression of his face.

"It wasn't your fault, Steve," Tony says softly, taking Steve's hand and intertwining it with his own.

"You’re safe with me. you know that, right?"

Tony smiles. "Yeah," he breathes out, pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips. “I know.”

#coffee writes #coffee answers #stevetony #reblogs are love #if you like please reblog #as you can probably tell this got way longer than I was intending #usercoffee #Coffee_and_notebooks

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