and his eyes good lord his eyes

Caught in the Rain- Bucky x Reader(f)

Authors notes: Since y’all love the fluff….lol This one is from my requests! Thanks @tatortot2701. Also, I rushed to get this out so forgive me for spelling or grammar errors..

Prompt: Okay, get this. Coffee shop au with Steve and Bucko

Notes/Warnings: Vomit worthy fluff and kissing.

Originally posted by seabasschino

 Your alarm clock buzzed and you smiled wide. Six am was no reason to grin but going to get your morning coffee was. You’re local shop was run by two of the cutest baristas in the entire world, and you had the hots for one in particular.

 You showered quick and braided your hair into a messy bun- which worked for business casual- and slipped on your favorite dress and heels. Okay, you were trying extra hard today but with good reason.

 Today was the day you would ask out James. At least you would if you could muster up the courage. You checked your make-up one more time and grabbed your purse and rushed out the door.

 The walk down the street was actually not terrible. A little dark and gloomy with the oncoming storm but, you were other wise distracted by thoughts of your dark haired dream boat. He always smiled at you when he took your order and would stepped away from the register to make your coffee himself.

Keep reading

Close as Strangers: Chapter 11

Close as Strangers: Chapter 11

Word count: 6.2k

Genre: High School au, angst, smut  

This is dedicated to one of my best friends, thank you for being my friend and putting up with my weird ass. Thank you for reading my works and helping me want to keep writing even when I feel overwhelmed. Love you to death @kae-popx have a wonderful birthday, you deserve it! 

Chapters: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

Originally posted by sugutie

You and Yoongi were bringing your stuff down to the foyer when the doorbell rang. You had woken up only about fifteen minutes ago. You were so tired but you lazily went and opened it to a sleepy looking Jungkook. He smiled and walked in, giving you a kiss and brushing hair from your face.

“Morning, Jungkook.“ you rubbed the sleep from one eye.

“Hi, love. Do you want some help with your bags?” He asked. He became very smiley all the sudden. His hand suddenly slid down your back and cupped your ass, squeezing it quickly. All you could do was gasp and he was out the door with one of your bags. Yoongi had already taken his but came back for his pillow and backpack.

“You okay, Y/N?” Yoongi asked.

“Yeah,” you unfroze, you were definitely awake now. You grabbed your backpack and blanket. Then you and Yoongi said goodbye to your parents and his parents.

Keep reading

You Know the Rules

Warning: Strong language

Shawn groans as he stands under the shower. This day had not started the way he had wanted it to. He had woken up from a dream – and what a dream it had been. His girlfriend had been on her knees, lips wrapped tightly around his cock, cheeks hollowed and swallowing every last bit of him. Her face had been beautiful, her eyes wet and her swollen lips honestly looked like they were made to suck his cock. Fucking hell. He had woken up from that dream painfully hard. He glances down, lets out a frustrated sigh as his hand wraps around his cock more firmly. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, the sound of the shower somewhat masking the slick sound of his hand on his cock. A sigh slips past his lips, his head falling back in pleasure. The bathroom door opens, snapping him out of his reverie, as his girlfriend walks in, a loose fitting shirt the only thing covering her sinfully familiar body. God, the things he had done to that body.

“Hey I just have to brush my… hair…” Her voice trails off as she takes in his miserably desperate state.

Usually Shawn had enough decency to at least look ashamed at being caught like this. But not today. No, today he pulled at his cock one last time before turning to his girlfriend who is standing right there, brush in hand, her shirt clinging to her breasts, rising and falling with every breath. She is definitely better than his hand. He growls out, “Get in here. Now,” before opening the glass door of the shower and pulling her inside. She yelps in protest, yet he can’t bring himself to care. She is so warm, so soft and right here in his arms. He wraps his arm around her, pulling her against him. He suppresses a groan as his painfully hard cock presses against her soft stomach. Her shirt is soaked through now, clinging to every little curve.

“Fuck, I need you, kitten.” He looks down at her, his chest heaving with need. Kitten, he only ever calls her that during his most dominating moments. He presses a kiss against her jaw as his fingers find the hem of her shirt and pull the soaked material over her head with some difficulty. Glorious. And he needs her now.

“Shawn.” She presses her small hand against his chest, forcing some distance between them. He raises an eyebrow in question.

“We are not having sex in the shower,” she says, a teasing smile playing on her lips. He wants nothing more than to wipe that smirk of her face. Have her mouth begging for mercy, her lips kiss swollen and bruised.

“And why is that darling?” he asks, his voice low in his throat as he pushes against her hand on his torso.

“First of all… unless you are hiding a condom in your butt crack we can’t have sex. Second even if you did it could slip off during and I don’t really feel like fishing a condom out of my vagina.” She lets out a breathy laugh. “Third, considering you’re very clumsy we will probably slip and hurt ourselves.” She places her second hand on his chest trying to push him away. He quirks his eyebrow at her spirited words. Adorable.  She thinks she can win against him. His instincts shout at him. Teach her. Fuck her. Bruise her.

Shawn quickly turns off the shower before wrapping his fingers around her wrist. He opens the shower door and pulls her out along with him. Shawn smirks slightly at her wide eyed expression when he sets her in front of the counter. As he opens the cabinet under the sink and grabs a condom, she starts walking towards the door. Oh, darling. You’re not getting to the bed.   

“No, no, no kitten.” He lets out an amused chuckle. “You stay right there. Hands on the counter, press that pretty stomach against it,” he instructs her. She gulps at his words. When she hesitates for a moment too long, Shawn’s patience fizzles out. His left hand clasps her hip, pushing her towards the counter while his right one applies pressure against her back bending her over the counter. Her eyes are trained on him in the mirror’s reflection, trying to figure out his next move.

“Look at us, darling,” he murmurs as he rips open the condom wrapper and slides it onto his aching cock. He suppresses a smile as her breathing hitches slightly at his commanding tone. She knows what it entails. He reaches out to her, needing to feel her beneath his fingers. He runs his hand up her arm, enjoying the trail of goose bumps he leaves behind. He steps up behind her, lowering his lips to her ear and looking her in the eye in the mirror’s reflection. God, she is beautiful: bent over the sink with her elbows keeping her somewhat upright, her sinful ass jutting out. She is looking up at him, the breath-taking column of her neck exposed. He grinds his hips into her ass, savouring the sweet sweet friction against his cock. Her eyes widen as she feels his condom-covered erection nudging her and she moves her hips, as if asking for more. Shawn plants a kiss to her neck, mumbling, “No excuses anymore, hm?” His nose ghosts up the shell of her ear. Her breathy gasp is music to his ears. She looks down, breaking the eye contact. Now that just won’t do. He tangles his left hand into her hair, pulling on it, forcing her face up, making her look at him again. Her chest rises in short, shallow breaths as he gently presses his body against hers.

“Hm? Nothing to say? Has my kitten already run out of witty things to say? Your pussy aching that bad? Can’t form a smart answer because it’s hurting?” He places a searing kiss under her ear. Her eyes flutter shut, as she bites her lip to contain a moan. He grins at her reflection: a flush developing high on her cheeks, her chest heaving with gasped breaths, her hardened nipples begging for attention. His lips graze her jaw; he can barely contain a growl as she arches up into his touch. Patience, darling. I haven’t even begun yet.  

“Ah, kitten. I would love to give you pleasure but…” He smirks as her eyes snap open and her body goes rigid in his embrace. Smart kitten. Let’s play. His fingers untwist from her hair, brushing it to the side. Shawn tucks a stray lock behind her ear before moving his fingers down her neck. Stroking it, slowly wrapping his fingers around it. He can feel her pulse thrumming loudly in anticipation… and maybe a little in apprehension. He makes her look up at him. Good god, she will be the death of him. Eyes large, pupils blown out, flushed cheeks and lips parted on a moan.

“Kitten… You know you have to apologise,” he tells her. He is tracing circles on her hip, his left hand around her throat still holding it firmly. Her eyebrows furrow a little in confusion.

She huffs a sigh at the feeling of his large hand covering almost her entire neck. She keens underneath his fingers as Shawn’s right hand cups her crotch, silently begging him for more. A muttered Shawn rasps out of her as he slides two fingers inside her. Her slick walls stretch around him, clenching around his fingers ever so tightly. Fuck. His cock twitches in anticipation. So tight, so slick.

“Who made you wet darling?” He looks at her, enjoying the way she blushes at his words. “Did I get this you wet? Fuck- You’re dripping.” He curves his fingers, brushing over her g-spot. Her eyes fall shut, a broken shout rattling out of her as she presses against his hand.

“No moving. Or I’ll stop,” he orders, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.

“Shawn… Please… more…” she begs, jutting out her ass a little, pleading for him to touch her.

“Sorry, love. You need to apologize first.” He takes his fingers out of her, drawing a whimper from her beautiful lips. His foot nudges her legs further apart, as he gives her ass a light yet stinging slap. A warning.

“Ass out darling. Come on, let me see you,” he orders, his left hand tightening its grip on her throat ever so slightly when she opens her mouth as if to protest. Her breath hitches as she feels the tip of his cock against her entrance. She looks at his reflection, silently begging him. Not good enough.

“Want my cock, kitten? Hm? Want it to fill you? Stretch you? You’ve been waiting, haven’t you? God I’ve kept you waiting haven’t I? Ask for it. Show me how bad you want me to fuck you and I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs lowly, his eyes trained on hers.

“Please. Please, Shawn.” She hesitates before adding. “I want your cock. Deep. Please.” She doesn’t stutter, she only blushes a little. She trusts him with this. Christ’s sake she is killing him. The knowledge makes his aching erection down right painful.

He can’t wait any longer. He had to feel her, had to have her clenching around him. A growl tears out of him as his control shatters. He thrusts into her, drawing it out, torturing both of them. A string of please and more roll off her tongue as he bottoms out. Her eyes fall shut as he presses into her. His pace slow and unforgiving. But It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough of what she needs.

“Oh, kitten. Look at yourself. Look how good I fuck you,” he orders, voice strained as he tries to keep his composure. Her bewitching eyes open again, looking at herself in the reflection of the slowly fogging up mirror. Her eyes darken as she catches sight of herself in the reflection. 

“You look so good on my cock. Taking all of me in. You love it, don’t you? When I fuck you? When you know you’ll need my help standing?” He revels in her mewled moan. Lord have mercy on him.

“Straight up begging for it, aren’t you? Begging for my cock. Fuckin- Fucking writhing on my cock.” The only response he gets is a choked whimper of his name. He drives his hips home, pressing into her. A groan escapes him as her walls flutter around him. Her soft cries for more eat at his control. His fingers around her neck tighten imperceptibly as she meets his thrusts.

“So, so, so needy kitten. Need more of my cock? Does your cunt need more?” He relishes her whined answer, a drawn out yes that goes straight to his cock. He grinds into her, murmuring in her ear, filthy filthy words tumbling from his lips. He mouths at her jaw, a hickey blossoming on her flushed skin.

“Do you want to come, kitten? Your pussy’s so goddamn tight. Fuck- I’ll- I’ll lose my cock all the way up there, if you keep doing that. Stranglin- Fucking strangling my cock with that cunt of yours, darling.” He can’t help the moan that escapes him at her response: a broken, whimpered moan of please, please, please. He gently nips her ear, enjoying the breathy gasp she releases.

“You know what I want darling. Apologise and you can come,” he whispers, a smirk playing on his lips as her eyes look at him with disbelief written on her face. He raises an eyebrow, assuring her that he is serious. He drives into her, causing her mouth to drop, moans spilling from her swollen lips. Her hand slams up against the mirror, desperately seeking support. Her head drops. His punishing pace is too much, too intense and yet not entirely enough.

“No, no, no. Kitten, you know the rules. Watch. Watch how good I fuck you. How much you like being fucked hard.” He growls out as his hand raises her head again, forcing her to take in her desperate and filthy state.

“Look at you. You never understand- never believe me… You look so fucking good. I’m fucking this goddamn goddess- So gorgeous. Look, dear, look how fucking filthy you look.” He pants, looking straight into her eyes. A breathy sigh the only answer he gets.

“I’m sorry, Shawn. So sorr- Fuck. I’m sorry, please. Let me- Please let me come. You fuck me so good. Please, I can’t-” She begs beautifully. He grinds his teeth together. Little witch, enchanting him into giving in.

“Oh, darling. Come here,” is all he manages to say as his hips grind into her, his shaft burying deep into her, grazing her g-spot. Her back arches, her breasts jutting out, a whine shattering out of her. She is gorgeous. The incoherent string of sorry and please never stopped; even as he drives into her, the apologies still tumble from her lips. As if she doesn’t want to risk him stopping.

“Good girl. Good girl. Look at that- stretching so well. Your pussy’s perfect. So fucking good,” he mumbles against her ear. A breath punches out of him as her walls clench down on his cock, holding him in a vicelike grip.

“Come for me darling…” he says, giving her neck a little squeeze. She shatters in his arms, her hand leaving the mirror and clawing into his arm. Her orgasm rushes through her, her walls fluttering wildly around him. A moan leaves him as his own orgasm punches through his body. His heavy breath fans across her neck as he comes down from a seemingly endless high.

He gingerly pulls out of her, discarding of the condom. He picks her boneless body into his arms before she crashes on the bathroom floor and carries her to their bed. He holds her close to his chest, worrying his bottom lip. Shawn presses kisses to her hair as he tries to put his thoughts into one coherent sentence. Once he had somewhat regained his composure he wondered, had it felt as good for her, as it had for him?

“Was I… too… you know, too rough?” he manages to stutter. She breathes in loudly, and her delayed answer makes blind panic surge up in him.

“What? No! It was great, I- I actually really loved it,” she rushes to reassure him. She twists in his arms to press a kiss against his lips.  “Shawn, I’d tell you if I wanted you to stop. Trust me. I wouldn’t just… endure it. I’d tell you to stop. Promise.”

He relaxes at her words, a sigh of relief leaving him. Thank God.

“I loved being your kitten.” She smirks, winking at him cheekily. He can’t help the blush that spreads on his cheeks. God… How could he have said all that?

A/N I would like to thank my kinky friend for helping with the dirty talk and thank you to my equally (if not more) kinky friend who helped correct my grammar mistakes. Love you!!! 

anonymous asked:

Hello, if you're still taking prompts could you do #33 with Marichat or Ladynoir? (BTW love your stories!)

This is horribly overdue. I’m so sorry this took so long, I was caught up with other stories, life, and just recently suffered a bad case of writer’s block :/ I picked the Ladynoir side of the love square (although it’s probably not in the way you’re thinking). Still, I hope you enjoy this :)

“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”

You may not know it, but being a noblewoman could be very difficult at times.

Such were the Lady Marinette’s thoughts as she finally managed to sneak away to the snack table. A young Lord had been trying to request a dance with her for the better part of ten minutes, causing her to nearly flee every time he came in her sights. Luckily, just when she thought she was cornered, she was able to pair him with her best friend.

“I’m going to kill you,” Lady Alya had silently mouthed when she was led to the dance floor.

Marinette giggled to herself as she swiped a chocolate chip cookie from the very top of the pile on the silver tray. Not many women were eating them in order to ‘maintain their figure’ but Marinette didn’t really care about that. She’d eat what she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She looked around at the sea of guests, at all the colorful masks that adorned their faces. Her parents decided to host a masquerade ball, thinking it to be romantic and mysterious. Marinette thought that the idea was intriguing, but she didn’t really think anyone to be romantic or mysterious. It was just like any other ball she’d been to, with no one in particular standing out among the crowd.

She wanted to tell her parents that real life was vastly different from fairy tales, but she knew it would crush their hearts, especially since they wanted her to have a whirlwind romance of her own.

Marinette sighed in defeat, resigning herself to picking out a stranger to dance with just to appease her hopeless romantic parents.

“Is the princess not having a good time?” a masculine voice teasingly drawled.

Startled, her head whipped around to see a man leaning against a nearby pillar. He wore the traditional finely-made garb befitting of someone of the noble class, yet it was completely black, save the swirling designs of green beside the buttons on the otherwise coal black jacket.

Around his equally green eyes sat a black domino mask, but with cat ears on the ends. His blond hair lacked a refined style, instead the golden locks were wildly tousled. However, instead of looking like a common vagrant, the look suited him perfectly.

His lips were stretched into a wide smile, a row of pearly-white teeth exposed in the process. She noticed the man had rather nicely chiseled features. This, combined with all his other traits, made him exceptionally handsome.

However, her heart was already taken.

“I am not a princess, sir,” she replied, a corner of her mouth arching in interest. She had a feeling that whoever this man was, he was going to prove to be riveting company.

“You could’ve fooled me, with how every man’s eyes are fixated on you alone,” he purred flirtatiously, abandoning his spot by the column to saunter closer to her.

She snorted in mirth, finding that she liked this stranger. Sure, his flirting was a little over-the-top, but it wasn’t at all creepy like how some lords spoke.

“I find that hard to believe,” she disputed with a grin. “It doesn’t matter anyway, since I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Too good for them?” he asked. His tone was still teasing, yet his eyes shined with something else. For a moment she thought it seemed like he was testing her, but she quickly wrote it off as paranoia.

“No, it’s not that. The person that I really want to dance with isn’t here,” she admitted. She had a mask on, so no one except for Alya knew who she really was. So she supposed it was okay to tell a few truths for one night, provided she was careful, of course.

She sighed, recalling how her statement had been all too true. Prince Adrien was far out of reach, and honestly she shouldn’t have expected him to show up to her modest estate, even if it was for a ball. She met him a few months ago when his father had invited all the noble families to a formal dinner, hers included.

They didn’t get off on the right foot, though.

When it was time for the dinner, she ended up being one of the last few to enter the dining room. She had been caught up in a conversation with Alya in the sitting room beforehand, delaying her arrival. When she did show, she was dismayed when she found a splash of red wine decorating the bottom of her cherry wood chair, with the Crown Prince himself squatting next to it.

Since she couldn’t berate him without receiving a harsh reprimand, she chose to coldly glare at him as she picked up a napkin from her place on the table to wipe it. Prince Adrien tried to stutter something out, something probably apologetic, but she silently rebutted every attempt for speaking.

Finally, when the dinner was over, it was discovered that it had started to rain. It was sunny before, so naturally no one brought umbrellas with them, thus resigning everyone to a wet and soaking fate.

However, right as she was about to step outside into the steady rain, the Prince appeared…with a black umbrella in hand. He explained that he was about to wipe off the wine when she had suddenly appeared. He didn’t try to soil her dress at all, and was simply in the right place (to clean the chair), but at the wrong time.

Hearing his honest words and expression persuaded her to forgive him. Afterward, he gave her the umbrella to use so she wouldn’t get wet.

And that was the moment when she fell in love with the sweet, unsuspecting prince.

They saw each other a few more times after that. He was just as friendly and amicable, but she could barely respond to him without embarrassing stutters and stammers. He was perfect in her eyes, so excuse her for being a little anxious to talk to him.

“Who do you admire that so rudely didn’t show up?” the stranger asked with a quirk of his lips.

She shook her head. There was no way she could tell anyone that she was interested in the Prince, mask or not.

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you that, Chat Noir.”

She supposed it was a good nickname; it suited him considering his attire. Besides, she couldn’t keep mentally referring to him as a stranger or just simply ‘he’.

“Chat Noir, hm?” he repeated, a far-away look appearing in his eyes as he stared above her head, a finger tapping chin in thought.

He grinned, returning his attention to her.

“I like it. Although I suppose you need a nickname now, too. How about…” he trailed off, inspecting her up and down to determine the perfect moniker. Abruptly he snapped his fingers, something that Marinette didn’t understand how he accomplished, considering he wore black gloves.

“Ladybug!” he exclaimed, smiling widely. “For your red dress and black mask. And it’s also perfect since black cats are a symbol of bad luck while ladybugs are for good luck. We’re like yin and yang, my Lady.”

The last two words rolled off his tongue in such an alluring way that caused the Lady’s heartbeat to momentarily quicken. With a light dusting of pink on her cheeks, she slightly shook her head, dismissing the sudden spike of attraction for him. ‘Chat Noir’ was just a charmingly amusing character, one that she didn’t romantically admire.

“Ladybug,” she echoed aloud, pursing her lips as she considered the potential identity. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she seemingly decided, presenting Chat a coy smirk. “I like it.”

He mirrored her expression with a gleeful gleam of his own in his eyes.

“I knew you would,” he boasted in jest, straightening his shoulders and raising his chin in the air, giving off the appearance of a conceited aristocrat. She smiled and rolled her eyes when he placed a flattered hand over his heart. “Since everyone loves my ideas.”

“Really? And who would ‘everyone’ be?” she asked sarcastically, playing his game. “The other stray tomcats in the village?”

“My Lady, whoever said I was a stray? For all you know, I could be of royal pedigree.” His lips curved into a strangely unsettling smirk, as though he knew something she didn’t. “For all you know, I could be the Crown Prince!”

Marinette laughed, making sure to quickly press her lips together as she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to politely cover up the loud chortles. After all, it was rude for a well-bred lady to have her mouth wide open in laughter. Women were supposed to be demure and polite, always looking at their best.

She hated this social construct, yet she was doomed to follow through with its requirements anyway.

Once her giggles died down, she turned to face the grinning feline again.

“I’ve met Prince Adrien before, and I can confidently say that you’re nothing like him.”

“Indeed?” he remarked, almost sly.

“Yes, indeed,” she insisted with another giggle. “Prince Adrien isn’t like you at all.”

“And if he was? Would you admire him any less?”

Marinette visibly flinched, taken aback by his conclusion. With disbelieving eyes and reddened cheeks, she ducked her head down to avoid his eyes. How did he realize she had feelings for the Prince? This was bad, very bad…if he knew who she was he could tell Adrien, and then Adrien would never love her back and word would spread and she would become the laughing stock of the entire kingdom! She would be lonely for the rest of her life and die an old maid, while Adrien would pick a beautiful and worthy princess to marry…

She forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose.

Relax, Marinette. Maybe you could convince him that he’s wrong.

With that mental pep talk, she straightened her shoulders and faced him again.

“I don’t admire him, well, not more so than anyone else. I don’t admire him in the sense that you’re thinking of.”

“Really? Because from what I hear you do admire him, more so than anyone else.” He smirked wickedly, eliciting a nervous gulp from the stiffening maiden.


“The ‘how’ isn’t important,” he quickly dismissed with a careless wave of his hand. “What matters is the ‘why’. Why do you fancy Prince Adrien?” He clasped his hands behind his back before walking in front of her line of vision. She was positive that if they were alone, he’d be circling her like a hawk about to catch its prey.

“Is it for his riches? His looks? His palace? Or is it simply a matter of competition, in which you must win the grand prize?”

Marinette narrowed her eyes. Nevermind that this cocky feline somehow knew who she was (he didn’t say her name, but he had heard of her feelings for Prince Adrien, so therefore he must know her identity), but how dare he assume her affections were based on purely artificial things?

“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence,” she informed him, her tone hard as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“So it is true, then?” he guessed with a bitter grin, followed by a scoff. “I guess our dear Prince will forever be resigned to a life without true love. Pity, I heard he was interested in quite a lovely woman, too. Warm, kind, a bit clumsy, but beautiful inside and out. Tis a shame, although I suppose it’s very well that he caught himself before he fell completely.”

Marinette was now glaring daggers where Chat Noir stood, her teeth bared in an infuriated snarl. She ignored the jab to her heart from his mention of another woman that Prince Adrien was interested in, instead focusing her anger on his grave mistakes of her character.

“Now you listen here, Chat Noir,” she spat, pointing a finger to his chest. “My feelings for Prince Adrien are real, and not based on his title, or his riches, or looks. I didn’t even like him until I saw how kind, forgiving, and generous he could be. I love him for who he is as a person, not for what he could afford or what he could give me.”

She took a deep breath, her fury beginning to simmer.

“And while I know I have no chance of him ever returning my feelings,” she continued in a much less hostile tone than before, bordering on disheartened acceptance, “I just want to make it clear that I do truly care for him…even if he loves someone else.”

The man in front of her stared seemingly in awe at her words. His green eyes were blown wide as his cheeks gradually shifted into a rosy color. For a few, tense seconds all he could seem to do was peer at her with an emotion Marinette couldn’t place, his reaction garnering her confusion.

Why was he looking at her as if seeing her for the first time? It caused a shiver to run down her spine, a good thing or a bad thing, she wasn’t certain.

At last, he appeared to snap out of his self-induced trance, a corner of his mouth curling up in a fond smile.

“I apologize for making such inaccurate assumptions of your feelings, My Lady. I see now that I was in the wrong.”

He held out a gloved hand to her.

“Would you allow me to make it up to you with a dance?”

Marinette pursed her lips, not relenting on the glower she sent his way.

“How is a dance with you going to make it up to me?”

“Well, I’ve been told I’m an excellent dancer,” he boasted, shooting her a wink. “And I’ve been trained since early childhood in the art.” His smile faltered as his expression shifted from cheekiness to remorseful. “I really am sorry for making those false accusations about you. It was completely unjustified. Can you forgive me?”

Marinette sighed, her features relaxing in the process.

She supposed she could understand where he was coming from, since most girls only wanted Prince Adrien for his title or looks. How was he to know that she was different, that she didn’t care about that stuff?

Well, she did consider him to be the most handsome, gorgeous man she ever saw, but that wasn’t why she liked him.

Anyway, Chat was just making a conclusion most likely based on the Prince’s numerous, other female admirers. He was also quick to apologize once she informed him on how wrong he was.

She was set on dancing with Prince Adrien and him alone for the night, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to show up. And, she’s been itching to dance…

“Alright, Chat Noir, I will dance with you. But you must promise me something first.”

A part of his forehead rose. She guessed he was raising an eyebrow at her request.

“And that would be?”

Her blue eyes hardened.

“You must promise not to tell Prince Adrien about my feelings for him. Swear to me you won’t!”

Chat looked baffled at her demand.

“But why-?”

“Because!” she hissed, pointing at him for emphasis. “He’ll reject me and then everyone will find out and then I’ll become the laughing stock of this kingdom for thinking I ever had a chance with him and then I’ll never be able to leave my house again! So do not tell him, understand?”

Chat, to her surprise and indignation, had the audacity to chuckle.

“I don’t know why you think he’ll reject you, you are a lovely woman.”

When she only blinked at his enunciation of the words, oblivious as to what he was getting at, he closed his eyes and sighed for a brief moment.

“Regardless,” he continued after he opened his eyes, flashing her a grin. “I won’t tell him. Cat’s honor.”

He placed his right hand over his heart as he made the vow, at the same time he raised his left in the air.

While she was skeptical of the sly expression he wore, he did promise not to tell Prince Adrien. She mentally scoffed, figuring he only had that look because he was only going to tease her throughout the night for her feelings.

“Very well, chaton. I’ll dance with you.”

His eyes shined with satisfaction, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

The next day, after the hype from the ball had long ago worn off, Lady Marinette was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter addressed solely to her. She figured it to be from Alya, no doubt in order to berate her for leaving her to dance with a stranger.

The thought made her giggle before she accepted the note from the servant.

Only for the amusement to immediately die down once she observed just where the letter came from. With wide eyes and a new, nervous rhythm of her heart, she broke the wax seal and flipped the paper open.

Dear Lady Marinette,

I hope you are having a wonderful morning. I apologize for not being able to attend the ball your family hosted last night, for I was caught up with other duties. I hope you are able to find it in your kind heart to forgive me.

If you were not at all busy today, I was wondering if you would perhaps consider spending the afternoon with me at the palace. Besides having lunch and strolling around the grounds together, there is something I would like to ask of you.

This request is for you, and you alone, My Lady. Of course, you are free to decline, either the request or the visit, or even both if you so wish. Although, I will be honest with you, in that I very much hope you decide to come.

If you do wish to visit, please send word soon after you have made your decision. If not, please kindly disregard this note and I shall never bring up the subject again.

Sincerely Yours,

Adrien, Crown Prince of France

“Marinette?” Sabine asked whilst entering the dining room. Her head tilted in confusion upon seeing her daughter’s flustered state. “Are you alright? Who is that letter from?”

But her daughter couldn’t answer, for she promptly swooned and fell right out of her chair.

Don’t worry, she was fine and able to go to the palace xD

Imagine: being able to lift Mjolnir and surprising both princes

[ this is one of my older imagine ideas, sorry if it’s wonky! ]

You yawned loudly as you trudged into the sitting room, then greeted by a handful of the tower residents.  Loki sent you a curious glance, momentarily wondering why you were tired at… noon.  He sat in a lone chair, and closed his Asgardian book.

“Lady [Y/N], good day!  You slept past the morn, I see.” Thor proclaimed from the couch, while you dropped yourself beside him.  Natasha watched you from the other side of the room, while Tony was discussing something with FRIDAY at a holographic display.  You kicked your legs up onto the coffee table, placing your feet beside Mjolnir.

“Long night… Remind me not to agree to watch the night crime again.” You grumbled, before sinking into the cushions.  Thor chuckled loudly, and you cringed, before turning away from him.  Loki made some snarky remark about your sleeping habits, but you were not in the mood.  “Shove it, silver-tongue.” You huffed, while curling up your legs slightly.  You felt your feet bump something and heard it hit the floor, but didn’t put much thought towards it, until dead silence claimed the room.

Your eyes burst open and you rapidly sat up, realizing Mjolnir wasn’t on the table.  Your eyes widened as they landed on the toppled hammer, sitting on the floor, before you glanced at Thor.  His mouth was agape in shock, looking between you and his hammer.  All eyes were on you now, but a velvet chuckle drew your attention.

“My, what a treat… The Midgardian night watch is worthy.  Odin must not have put much thought into the perimeters for worthiness.” He remarked, pulling half-hearted glares from you and Thor.  However, you could tell by his tense posture and expression that he hadn’t expected it either, and likely didn’t look forward to another hero being able to drop the damn hammer on his chest.  You huffed softly, before shifting your shoulders.

“I’m sure it’s just a fluke, like the elevator thing…” You started, reaching for the hammer to prove your point.  However, when you easily lifted it, you heard Thor let out a strangled breath.  Godly eyes were trained to your hand, one wondering what this meant for his future throne, and the other wondering if this meant the other Avengers would try to convince you to smack him.

“This is… ah- well…” Thor mumbled, trying to think of what made you worthy.  You were a hero of the people, and you had been good to himself and his brother, but surely there was something else… Shifting his curious and suspicious eyes to your stunned face, he let his thoughts swirl.

“…Good fucking lord…” You mumbled, turning the hammer in your hand.  Loki furrowed his brows momentarily, before moving to sit beside you, trapping you between his own body and Thor.  He reached for the hilt of the hammer, and when Thor realized what Loki was trying, he shot out one hand to intercept.  Both of their hands met yours on the hammer, and a shock of energy sparked through your body.  You yelped in surprise, but somehow, didn’t feel pain from the shock.  The princes drew back, unfamiliar with what was happening.

“M-Maybe I should have stayed in bed today…”

Guys my age

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Warnings: Lots of smut, protected though, but smut. Wrap it before ye tap it.

A/N: My baby @imaginedaily asked me if I could write a little something for her and of course I said yes because she’s my baby and I love her and I’m guessing I’m a bit gay – okay, A LOT hehe <3 Inspired in Hey Violet’s “Guys my Age

Originally posted by mayawolf

You got out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around your body. Andy Black blasting in the background, as loud as your neighbors allowed. Dancing around at the rhythm of the music, you took out clothing from the drawers and started sliding it on your frame.

Your music faded away and in its place, your ringtone rang. You looked at it and ignored the caller. It had been about four weeks since you’d been ignoring your lame ex; he wanted to get back together with you because he missed you very much but you felt completely disgusted by the idea. Someone told you guys your age were idiots and even though he seemed normal at first, he proved to be everything you were told he would.

Zipping up your leather jacket and turning the keys, you hit downtown to see what could the night life offer a single lady such as yourself. You came across a nice-looking place with some live music and seats near the stage to enjoy the music while being seated and drinking. As you made your first order, you couldn’t help but to look at the guy a few tables away from you. He was kinda hot in a rough way.

After exchanging glances at one another, he made the first move of changing seats next to you. His name was Clint, or so he said. Much older than you but not enough to be an old guy.

“And what is a nice girl like you, doing in a place like this?” He asked before sipping from his drink.

“What can I say?” you shrugged, “my ex-man done me wrong and here I am spending my nights talking to hot but old strangers.” A flirty smile drew on your lips.

“Ouch,” Clint took his hand to his heart in an offended manner, “don’t hurt your old man like that, kid.”

After some enriching music, conversation and drinks, you found that that Clint used to work in a circus and that he was more or less skilled at shooting arrows. You were rather impressed with that and you asked him to please show you how to shoot one, and after paying for the drinks, he walked with you back to his place which was not far from the bar.

The night was a bit chilly, but not enough to make you shiver. His conversation was just as fun and as relaxed as he was inside the bar with all the noise and the people around you. At first you thought he was one of those guys who liked pick up young girls because he couldn’t afford to be with one his age, but he seemed more like the guy who actually didn’t care if he was with one or not. Like he didn’t care at all of anything around him, really.

His apartment was entirely neat, and even cleaner than yours. You wandered around his living room while he took out some beers from the fridge for you to drink. You saw some pictures with him and two children, and lots and lots of other people.

“If it’s not too personal, who are the kids in these pictures?” You pointed at one of the pictures.

“My sister’s kids.” He replied, getting closer and handing you your freezing can. “Good kids.”

“And I’m sure they love their uncle Clint, right?” You mocked. “That’s sweet.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, rising his hands along with him, “all people tend to love me the minute they meet me so… we all win here, right?” He opened his can and took a long sip from it. You saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed and suddenly he became even hotter than how you pictured him. You decided to take a good sip too and let yourself enjoy his company.

Two beers later you were on the rooftop trying to shoot arrows, but it was useless, you were not only bad at it, you were terrible; not a single one hit the bull’s-eye, nonce. He, on the other hand, was incredibly good. He was so damn good that he didn’t need to look at his target. He looked at you and kept talking while shooting.

It was like watching that Brave scene when Merida rejects the sons of the lords, only 10 times cooler.

“You have to relax. You have to be the bow.” He tried to explain. “Try screaming, at the top of your lungs,” you did as he told you but you only ended up with a sore throat, “did that work?” you shook your head. “I didn’t think so,” he rolled his eyes, “ok, now try shaking?” you did, but you only felt even more ridiculous and he tried hard not to laugh at you.

“Oh god, I’m done with this.” You huffed and handed Clint his bow and the arrow he gave you to try.

“No, come on.” He said. “Take my hand–” Clint reached out his free hand and you reluctantly accepted it— “now close your eyes and try to breathe with me.” His voice was soft, and it took you a moment before you started imitating what he was doing. You felt your chest expanding with the air income and with your hands in his, you actually felt much more relaxed.

He slowly got closer and closer, until you had his breath brushing your lips. Your mouth hung a bit open when you felt the proximity of his. It was pure gut instinct that took over your senses, and in a split second you were crashing your lips on his and pulling from his jacket to make the distance disappear.

His strong hands held your waist tightly, and his thumbs circled the uncovered spots of your skin. The bow and quiver fell onto the concrete floor and the night suddenly became hotter. His mouth molded perfectly with yours and his tongue gently slid to intertwine with yours. Somehow, you were not very interested in shooting arrows anymore.

He carried you back to his apartment and closed the door by pushing you onto it. You got rid of your jacket and top and Clint followed in suit, revealing a scarred but ridiculously well-defined torso. You went for his lips again as he walked with you somewhere in his apartment, soon you realized it was his bedroom.

He gently placed you over the mattress and started placing soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He clearly knew what he was doing and you understood why people kept telling that messing around with boys your age was a waste of time. Older men definitely knew what to do, where to do it, when to do it and how to do it. His pace was soft, unlike your ex’s who wanted to get shit done ASAP; oh no, Clint took his time with you, making you enjoy the pleasures of being with a man with experience.

Your breath got caught in your windpipe when you felt a pair of calloused hands near the valley of your breasts, he slowly pulled down the fabric of your bra, giving you enough time to react and tell him to stop, but you said nothing, and your silence only indicated the permission he had. You helped Clint by freeing yourself from the straps and unclasping it from behind. Just a little help.

“I could that on my own, (Y/N).” He teased, keeping his lips glued to the skin of your chest. “I am not like the guys your age.”

“Since you’re a bit older—” you gasped— “I thought you might need a little help, right?”

“Well, I appreciate that.” He looked up at you and nodded.

He kissed and sucked on the hot skin of your breasts; Clint also spread your legs wider to lay comfortable in between them and use them as support once his lips carried on their way down to the hem of your jeans. He quickly unmade the button and pulled the fabric down your legs.

You supported yourself with your elbows on the mattress as he pulled away your wet underwear with his teeth. His hot breathing was a terrible teaser and it was amazing, because in your life someone had taken such care of you. His tongue did wonders and you were sure that you were tearing up his quilt with your tight grip. Hope he didn’t mind.

In a matter of seconds, you were blissfully screaming the Lord’s name and pushing Clint’s head closer to you. It took you a while you fathom how good he was just by eating you out. You stared at the ceiling, trying hard to catch your breath.

“Better than younger guys?” he savored his own lips, smirking wickedly at you.

“Oh, most certainly. Guys my age don’t know how to treat me right.”

“It’s only about to get better.” He unmade his jeans, revealing a glorious shaft under the tight underwear, and before throwing them away, he picked up a condom from his side table. At least he didn’t need to be told to fucking use one. You made a mental note on the various reasons why older guys were better than guys your age.

He positioned himself in between your legs, teasing your entrance with his length and slowly pushed in. He placed his hands on both sides of your head and lowered his upper body to distract you from the terrible stretching feeling by placing soft kisses on your lips. You were rather confused by his love demonstrations, was this a plain fuck or was he… being tender?

You arched your back from the mattress and held on to his broad shoulders as he pounded harder each second. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels on his butt. You loved to hear when he grunted trying to reach a deeper point in you; he was not loud, and compared to you he was a bit silent, but the little moans that spilled on his lips sounded like heaven.

If your previous orgasm was amazing, this one was indescribable. You couldn’t recall coming so loud and so joyfully. You surrendered on the mattress while he helped you ride out the orgasm while reaching his own. You had never been the one to come first, let alone a guy waiting for you. Well, he was not a random guy, he was a man.

After pulling out, he placed a sweet kiss on your forehead, and headed to the bathroom. You started picking up your clothes to get quickly dressed and leave, but before you could walk away from the bedroom, he appeared in his pajamas (that only included a pair of shorts) and leaned on the door frame.

“You’re not staying for breakfast?” He asked. “I mean, it’s a bit late for you to go out there.”

“I can call an Uber.” You shrugged.

“I’m a bit of a sucker for cuddling,” he admitted, shrugging and walking to the bed, “why don’t you accept my invitation for breakfast and stay the night?” He patted the bed with a huge grin on his face. “You can take a shirt from the drawer; the first one.”

You sighed and did as he told. He was a bit right, it was too late to call an Uber and breakfast sounded like a great idea. You searched for a shirt you liked and that you could keep. A purple one with a red, white and blue bull’s-eye in the middle. It was big enough to cover your butt and you loved the way it looked on you. You even got whistles and cheering from Clint as you did a bit of modeling. When you were about to close the drawer, you found some dark, leather-looking clothing.

“What’s this?” You asked, holding the sort of sleeveless vest.

“Oh, it’s my uniform.”

“Circus uniform?” You asked again, folding the garment and closing for good the drawer. You slid under the covers and cuddled next to Clint.

“No, more like avenging uniform. I’m Clint Barton, by the way.” He smiled, kissed the top of your head and then called it quits by turning off the lights.

oh sweet neon boy with a halo of halogen light. it tastes good, doesn’t it? to dance like this in the haze of the bar, one drink down with his eyes on you all glittering dark. it feels good like this, to get lost, fixated on the way his painted fingernails tap and shift, watch the full curve of his bottom lip and that grin that reaches the crinkles around his eyes. isn’t he handsome like this? and your heart is beating like a kick drum, because damn if he isn’t brilliant. with his kohl rimmed eyes, the lord of the pool table, humming close to you like a fallen saint, backlit by fairy lights. he’s falling in love with you alec but you don’t know that yet. you’re just a boy with long fingers, the taste of beer thick at the back of your throat and he’s the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen. you want to learn how his name feels in your mouth when his fingers are lost in your hair, don’t you? and tonight? tonight you can’t find it in you to feel guilty about that. because tonight magnus bane is watching you like you’re made of something greater than carbon and you’re realizing you were made to play this game.

Acquaintances to Lovers

Anonymous asked: Hi, I was wondering if you could do a fic in which the reader is like an understudy/swing and has just joined Hamilton. The reader like alternates for Maria Reynolds making like Daveed jealous? Something along the lines of that. I just read your Lin one and loved it so any chance you get to do this one. Thanks x

A/N: So this fic has already been done, so I changed it to reader understudying Angelica. Sorry anon! 

Warnings: Nakedness, cursing, knee touching, crying, 

Word Count: 2474

Pairing: D. Diggs x Reader

Ask | Masterlist

The iconic pink dress hung from a hanger on the rack of your dressing room, sticking out from the other bland clothing like a sore thumb. You were standing on a platform in the middle of the room while waiting for the tailor to come back. You impatiently tapped your foot. It had been almost a full 15 minutes at this point.

A text alert showed up on your phone almost instantaneously.

From: Ben [Costumer]
Hey I’m so sorry, an emergency came up at the warehouse and I needed to attend to it ASAP. We can reschedule or you can show up earlier for your next rehearsal.

Keep reading

“Family. Familia. Famille” - [Tom Hiddleston - One shot ].

Based on: Imagine: Tom being your ex, the one your family loved and welcomed when the two of you were together, and even wanted you to marry but things never worked between you. A couple of years later, he’s invited to a family event, which makes things super awkward for you because you’re still single but you don’t want him to know, and you’re well aware of how communicative and pushy your relatives can be, not to mention how much they will be praising him all evening long.

Written by: A.Wölf.

Notes: Family drama/fluff. 


Mia rolled the end of her side braid around her bun and secured it with a bobby pin while staring at herself in the mirror.

The curtain next to her billowed open and the cool ocean breeze raced through her, reminding her to pay attention to the sound of the crashing waves outside her parents’ beach house; something she hadn’t indulged in, in a long time.

Her bedroom door opened and it took her visitor less than 5 steps to reach her and rest her chin on her shoulder while putting her hands on her arms.

“Isn’t it odd how even when we look the same, I’m still the prettier one?”

Mia rolled her eyes at her identical twin who stared back at her in the mirror.

“Fuck off”.

Ava laughed.

“You look nice. I wonder why”, she said and Mia caught an ironic note in her tone but brushed it off.

“It’s been a while since the whole family’s gathered”, Mia said with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sure, Aunt Marie will appreciate your effort. Come on”, Ava chuckled.


Ava frowned and studied her sister for a second.

“Oh!” she exclaimed raising an eyebrow, “You don’t know”.

“Ava”, Mia sighed, “You’ve been here for a minute and you’re already getting on my nerves. What is it?”

Ava stood up, walked towards the door and opened it before glancing back at her dumbfounded and two-minute younger twin.

“Mother invited Tom”.

Keep reading

“Game of Survival”

@hermajestymanon Let the battle begin, dear friend. 

The throne room was a massacre. The throne room was where Prythian ended and a new force began. Feyre stood, her sword barely gripped in her right hand, blood slowly rolling down her skin. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as she looked around the carnage that surrounded her. The High Lord of the Dawn Court was pinned to the wall, his mouth still open, his skin still glimmering. Feyre watched that light fade. 

His wife and chosen soldiers decorated the floor with their golden blood, which carefully slithered across the floor. The Lady of the Dawn Court’s eyes were open, the golden orbs staring into space.

Feyre had never learned their names.

Kallias was lying down motionless, the blade in his back frozen over. His bright blue eyes seemed dull in comparison to a color Feyre once knew. His fingers were digging into the ice that painted the ground. In the process of crawling away from a force you can not out run: Death. 

On top of him, as if in the last moments of her life she was determined to guard him, a female rested. Her back was arched, her own jagged blade sinking into her sternum. White blood stained her lips, her fingers curled helplessly around the metal. 

Their own warriors were discarded and ruined around them, white and gold blood slowly swimming together, mixing like they were made to. It created a marble design, and slowly it swam to Helion. 

Hellion’s golden tunic was stained with a vibrant red, brighter than any red Feyre had ever seen. She would have loved to paint with such a bright color. His beaded head piece was tossed from his head, laying on the ground, far away from the High Lord. If Feyre didn’t know any better, the High Lord could have just been sleeping. He still looked magnificent. 

His wife lay beside him, those deep brown eyes forever unseeing. Her mouth opened in a scream the world would never hear again. The fiercest battle cry she had ever witnessed. Her crown still rested on her head, as if it knew it belonged there, even in death. Blood ran down her deep brown skin, and Feyre thought it was the most beautiful horror she had ever seen.

Warriors of the Day were thrown and destroyed around their High Lord and Lady, their bright red blood crawling across the throne room floor, until it met with the white and gold. Their deaths were brutal, yet undeniably stunning. 

The blade fell from Feyre’s fingers, clattering against the ground, when her eyes saw Tarquin. Young, brave, fearless Tarquin. She should have let him alone after she had betrayed him in his own Court. She should have never involved him in this. 

Tarquin’s white hair was matted with blood, his eyes peacefully closed. He was crumpled on his side, his body broken in several ways. Of all of them, he had fought the hardest. Feyre wished his eyes were open, so she could see that blue one last time. 

A male warrior had fallen on top of Tarquin, his body resting over the High Lord’s long legs. His left arm was reaching out, only a few inches from Tarquin’s unmoving fingertips. 

In their last seconds, the lovers had reached for one another. Feyre saw Varian and Cresseida amongst the Summer Court Fae who had fought bravely. Blood swam down Cresseida’s arms, her eyes glazed over. Varian’s own sword had betrayed him in the end, lodged in the Fae’s chest. 

She nearly staggered to the side when she saw Lucien’s bright red hair. 

His good eye was closed, his scarred eye staring at the far wall. Feyre had a sick feeling that Lucien could still see with that eye, even as he lay there, stone still. He was horrible to look at. Her friend, dead, gone, brave, but gone. 

Unnamed Autumn Court warriors had died by their High Lord’s side. Had accepted him as their rightful High Lord, had given her friend love, compassion, strength, everything she could not. And Feyre couldn’t even bother to learn their names. Faes with dark skin, natural tans, or olive undertones had died for Lucien, for a ray of hope. Their red hair, brown hair, golden hair, all soaked in blood; their blood. And all of their veins, empty of that raging fire. They had given that power up the moment they fell to the ground. 

The ends of Tamlin’s golden air was soaked in his own blood. Feyre stared at him, blood slowly trailing down her face, sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her nose. She knew she was covered in it. White, blue, red, and other colors alike. 

He looked peaceful. 

Like he was waiting for someone. 

Feyre’s knees began to tremble as she looked closer to her. The bodies created a path, a path to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat when she saw Elain and Nesta. Nesta with her burned hands, Elain with her tranquil face. 

Feyre wanted to collapse when she saw Azriel. His wings were bent against his back, a siphon cracked and broken, scattered across the floor, never to hum and glow again. 

Feyre looked at her friend, someone she would have called a brother, someone who would never breathe again. Cladded in Illyrian leathers, Azriel had gone down with a fight, Feyre knew that much. 

And so had his brother. Cassian, collapsed by Azriel’s side, motionless. His wings were gone from his back, once again. Feyre knew one thing. In death, Cassian deserved his wings more than anyone else. Fate was a cruel, wicked thing. His siphons were also cracked, broken, and gone. 

Another male she would never be able to call brother. 

Female Illyrians surrounded the two warriors. Wings. A sea of wings, all broken, tattered, torn, or simply gone. It was a sea of destruction, a sea of pain. Feyre blinked, and she saw another blonde head. 

Blood still seeped from Mor’s stomach and Feyre pressed a shaky hand against her mouth. Her blonde hair was pressed against her face, her brown eyes open, positioned on Azriel. He was the last thing she saw. 

Amren, her firedrake friend, their last hope in the seemingly impossible war, was  just as dead as the rest of them. Silver blood still poured from her neck, her silver eyes on the ceiling. Silver painted her and Feyre thought it was fitting. She sparkled like one of her beloved gems. 

She hoped her friend was back home, back with those who she loved and loved her. 

Feyre’s eyes drooped closed, then she forced them to open. She forced herself to look at the body at her feet. Her heart laid bare before her, crushed and broken, never to beat again. 

Her mate, her husband, her High Lord. His violet eyes so dark, not nearly as light and glowing as she remembered them. Her everything, her salvation; the one she saved, the one who had saved her. Broken and dead. 

The realization hit her hard. Rhysand was dead. Feyre finally fell, her head hitting the smooth floor. She moved one last time, determined to hold Rhysand’s hand. Determined never to die alone again. 

Her fingers clasped around his and Feyre looked up, letting loose a shuddering breath as she saw the King, skewered on his throne. His head thrown back, his body lifeless, all that power, gone. 

Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade - that is the cycle. Like calls to like. The Book of Breathings had warned her. The Book had warned her of the price. The Book had told her she was the princess of carrion. If only she had listened, truly listened.

For something to be Unmade then Made, something had to be Made then Unmade. For Feyre to hold the power of all the High Lords, it was fitting they should all be destroyed. Her eyes fluttered and the King wavered in her vision, as the Cauldron toppled over. 

The water raced across the floor, washing away blood in its wake, drowning the Fae in its cold grasp. It swam closer and closer to her, seemingly hissing and cackling. Soon, it soaked her, head to toe, along with her mate and her friends. 

Her family. 

Together, the deaths of the High Lords, they had Unmade Prythian. Feyre saw a figure in the doorway, their bare feet slick with the Cauldron’s water. The water began to shimmer, carrying the seven High Lord’s magic as well as the King’s through the liquid. 

Feyre heard a faint thumping, as if the figure had fled. Her eyes finally closed, she finally slipped away. She could only hope the Cauldron had chosen correctly; chosen someone to end this cycle. 

She would be the last to be Made. 

And with her, Prythian would be the last to be Unmade. 

World War Maas II has officially began. 

There will be casualties. 

People will not survive. 

Only one will come out victorious. 

A Confession (Thranduil x Reader)

(You are an elf working for the elven king, Thranduil. One day, you tell him how you feel about him, and you are rejected, until Thranduil mysteriously asks you to discuss something with him) (A PART TWO WILL BE COMING SOON!!!)


“I am very sorry,” you said in a clear yet faded voice, your eyes refusing to take inter image of the elven king standing in front of you. You longed for the simple contact your eyes were used to making with his, but waves of shame pulled them back to the floor beneath your feet.

“Tell me, what is it that troubles you?” Thranduil questioned, his voice low with a hint of genuine curiosity. The slight emotion in his voice caressed your worrying mind, lifting your head to face him.

As you watched his body inch closer and his long emerald robes sweep the floor, your mind flooded with memories. You had worked in Thranduil’s endlessly ornate palace for years upon years, yet what caught your attention most was the elven king himself. Working was hard when he was nearby. You failed to focus on cleaning the nearly infinite halls and chambers if his sky blue eyes watched you, and you longed for each slight conversation you shared with the king, whether it was a discussion of what had to be done that day or a quick exchange of good wishes during feasts and festivals. You wished this was easier.

Thranduil said your name in a questioning tone, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the space you occupied in front of him.

You shuffled your feet beneath you, your brown cloth shoes making a breathy sound on the brown stone floor. “I can no longer work under you, my lord.”

You lifted your eyes enough to see the king raise an eyebrow in surprise. “And why is that?” he asked in a tone that made it seem as if it was a statement.

This was the hard part. You envisioned Thranduil smirking with pensively squinted eyes as you bid him good morning and goodnight each day, at the start and end of your work. You envisioned the way his eyes strayed to you when you were ordered to clean his throne room, directly in front of his powerful figure seated above.

A shiver ran from your feet to your head. “I have grown to love you,” you said softly, hoping in a strange way that he would not hear you.

Thranduil’s eyebrows lowered and his lips shifted into a slight grimace. He stood, silent and serious. After a moment, he shifted on his feet and looked out past the many amber-colored pillars and warm lanterns streaking the room. You watched as the elven king’s eyes fluttered shut. His snowy hair swayed across his shoulders and back with each step that brought him further away from you. You could almost feel his absence weighing down your chest.

“My deepest apologies and regrets, my lord,” you said briskly, trying to pull his gaze back to you. “I know it is completely unprofessional of me to feel such things for-”

“I do not care in the slightest,” Thranduil’s deeply resonant voice filled the room like a spreading flame. “If you are worthy of working in this kingdom, then you will not allow trivial things to stop you from providing your services.”

You felt your stomach drop to the floor as the palace was ablaze with the king’s voice. “Yes,” was all you could say before you turned on your heels, facing the other side of the room, where a hallway would soon take you away from the misery that now seemed to linger in every inch of the room. “Yes, my lord.”

You could hear the whispers the king’s robes made as he turned, but you refused to look at him again as you quickly walked away. Whether he turned towards you or his throne, you did not know.

Remembering that moment was torture. Forgetting it was impossible.

As Thranduil wished, you continued to work as you did before. You were constantly cleaning and doing all that you could to avoid the king. The smiles he once gave you were replaced with short blank glances, and the small conversations you once had with him became nothing at all.

That did not mean you stopped thinking of Thranduil. In fact, although you wished to forget him entirely, he constantly occupied nearly all of your thoughts.

You had almost achieved neglecting the thought of the king one midsummer evening, when you were indirectly asked to report to his chambers by another elf.

Brushing off dust and dirt from your clothes which you acquired with ample chores, you nervously walked down the endless twisting hallways. Filled with worry, your mind sprinted from one hypothesis of why he wanted to see you to the next. Your feet picked up their pace, trying to keep up with your racing mind.

Finally, you reached the door to his bed chambers. You lightly knocked on the wooden door, then instinctively took a step back. With a small creak, the door opened, revealing the king.

His robes bore the exact color of an autumn leaf anticipating its graceful fall from beauty and glory, yet the simplicity of his attire comforted you. Cold icy eyes greeted you.

“You summoned me, my lord?”

“Yes, I did.” Thranduil turned to open the door wider, his platinum hair swaying onto his broad back, not held back by his usual crown of twigs and thorns. He outstretched an arm, motioning for you to enter the room.

Hesitantly, you stepped inside, immediately taking in your surroundings. The walls were a mixture of dark, glossy stone and chocolate-colored wood. At one end of the room sat a desk along with some evenly-placed shelves. At the other end was a bed covered in deep red blankets. You felt heat rush to your face when you realized that these really were his private chambers.

You heard the door click behind you. You turned on your heels to see Thranduil gliding towards you, the flowing motion of his robes making him appear as if he was not walking at all.

“I wanted to discuss something with you,” he said in a tone drenched in a stoic confidence. Thranduil continued to walk towards you, until you could see each detail of his sky-tinted eyes and his worn-yet-youthful face.

You gave him a slight nod of your head, taking in how unbearably close he was.

“I assume you recall when you told me about how you felt-” he began, his voice so close you could feel it reverberating through your body, fueling your racing heart.

“Yes, and once again, I am very sorry. However, I don’t see the need to discuss-” you attempted to guard yourself, spewing out any words you could find at your grasp until he took another dangerous step forward.

“Allow me to finish.” Thranduil lowered his face, dipping it in shadow.

You opened your mouth to protest, but became unable to do so once you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Fire shot through your upper body and bounced off in every direction. Your face felt unbelievably hot.

Seeing your reaction, Thranduil’s lips curled and his hand slid over your neck and up to your cheek. “What I wanted to tell you was…” The king spread his fingers and gently pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your scalp. He held the bottom of the strand between his fingers before releasing it, depriving you of his touch. His lips curled up further, yet his eyes continued to take you in with serious scrutiny. “I share the same feelings.”

The Runaway

gif is not mine

Title: The Runaway

Characters: Sam x Reader, Castiel

Word Count: 962

Warnings: angst & slight fluff

A/N: TGIF! I hope you all enjoy this! Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I love you all so much!

This was requested by an Anon: Can you do a thingy for like a teenage runaway that finds the bunker and hides out in it or maybe just like someone finds them or something idk i had a cute idea but i cannot explain it i guess

You had been on the run for years now.  You never expected the private investigators or the police to catch on to you at this point in the game.  You had to get somewhere safe.  You weren’t picky; you would go anywhere to escape being found.

As you ran down the gravel road, your eyes scanned the terrain for somewhere to hide.  There weren’t many options considering you were in Lebanon, Kansas.  Your eyes spotted what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse or factory.  You picked up the pace, making sure that you weren’t being followed.  You shut the door behind you, leaning your back against the metal door.  

That’s when you noticed things were not as they seemed.  Your eyes grew wide as you slowly padded up to the banister.  This was no abandoned warehouse.  You slowly descended down the metal staircase, your hand sliding along the cold metal railing.

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he’s a hero and my daddy// old man logan

Originally posted by hawkwoman

THIS PROMPT MELTED MY HEART WHEN I SAW IT. Ya’ll are gonna kill me with these prompts. Masterlist is updated! Enjoy!

Awh. Sunshine & Whiskey left me smiling from ear to ear it was so sweet. I’m the anon who requested it by the way. I loved it. I’ve got another one for you :3 Laura’s First Day At School. The reader (human) thought she would be the emotional one, but it turned out to be Logan, being too stubborn to admit it. Kinda humorous, but with a touch of fluff.

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Balem stuff, because why not?

@fierce-and-little put this idea in my head. ❤️

Balem masterlist

Imagine: Trying to calm Balem.

“The towers just…fell, my Lord. We’re trying-”


Balem gripped the arms of his throne in anger, the veins in his forehead protruding just a bit more than usual as he glared at the worker kneeling before him. You knew what that look meant, and that all too familiar eye twitch he got when trying to settle the raging storm inside. Balem was never very good at that, his rage typically got the best of him, especially when it was incompetence that caused it.

The worker from the refinery trembled before his lord, looking straight at the floor so he could avoid as much contact with Balem as possible. You wouldn’t doubt there was even a rumor spreading that said if you gazed upon his eyes you’d die instantly. Part of you even believed it, lover or not, Balem lost his patience with you as well sometimes.


His green eyes fixated on you, and he was clearly displeased with the way you attempted to address him in front of his court. No one, well actually everyone, might’ve known of your relationship with the First Primary. It’s not like it was easy to quiet the screams that came from his bedroom most nights. But, it wasn’t like he intended to marry you anytime soon, or even acknowledge you as more than a bedmate, but you liked to think you had some control over his emotions. Even if it was mainly used to ease his madness.

“My Lord, I’m sure it was an accident-”

Balem gritted his teeth, glaring daggers at the lot of you as he rose from his throne. He was hardly content with the amount of people trying to deflect the blame, but the truth was, his employee had caused damaged to the refinery and profits would dip. Leaving him to deal with the loss. As you opened your mouth to speak, he raised his hand, silencing you for good on the matter. He simply tolerated your kind heart because he felt some semblance of emotion towards you, but in the matters of business he preferred that pretty mouth of yours closed.

“I will not allow this ineptitude to continue. You have cost me more than enough, perhaps I should make you pay with your li-”

Balem was a man with no regrets, and every life he took was simply justice in his eyes, but to you it was unnecessary. And maybe your interference was not warranted, but you couldn’t allow him to kill a man for a simple mistake. You gripped the collar of his outfit, pulling him down and pressing your lips firmly against his. Silence spread through the throne room, everyone clearly uncomfortable or frightened of what Balem would do next. No one ever laid a finger on the Primary when in public, but you felt there was no other option.

His lips were soft against your own, yet warm and beyond inviting. If it wasn’t for the fact that a man’s life was at stake you would’ve melted into his arms and begged him to give you more. But, you pulled away, blushing when he released a shaky breath. His gaze was dark, pupils dilated, and it was all too clear he was slowly becoming aroused. Balem had given you that same look before, many times, and it only ever led to you on your back moaning beneath him.

You gulped as he drew close to you, his breath hot against your cheeks as he tried to control himself from kissing you back. But, with all eyes on him he composed himself, the corner of his lip twitching as he stilled the wrath inside.

“Be grateful I’ve allowed you another day…”

As he spoke, his eyes remained on you, though his words were directed at the employee still cowering on the ground.

“Leave us.”

He waved his hand towards the doors, gesturing for all to quickly leave or else fall victim to his ever changing moods. You stiffened in front of him, suddenly feeling very much like prey before predator as he stepped closer.

“I’m sorry….”

Your tone was weak, all your bravery from earlier now gone. Fizzled away as the Primary stared you down. He lifted his hand, nail digging into your jaw as he traced a path to your lips, brushing the bottom one delicately with his thumb.

“My little dove, so kind hearted you are…”

His menacing presence made your knees go weak, and it took all your strength not to fall to the floor and beg his forgiveness. But, Balem just smirked, enjoying the mix of pleasure and fear he saw in your beautiful eyes. He dipped down, softly caressing your lips with his own.

“You save a man from punishment, only to fall victim to it yourself.”


Ahh! *forever screaming*

Originally posted by lordbalemabrasax

Gajevy Week: Prompt: Grief Tear Me Down to Build Me Up


Rated: M-ish


Tear Me Down to Build Me Up

Inspired by: “Come and Get It” by Krewella

Post Tartarus

“I’ve been thinking…”

“How come I have a feelin’ it ain’t about anything good…”

“I’m thinking of… when you were in Phantom Lord.”

The silence was thick and uncomfortable.

“I don’t wanna be thinkin’ ‘bout that, Lev… I hurt ya…”

“I know… but I realized it taught me a lesson. An important one.”

“You may see me struggle, but you will never see me quit…”

Levy read that line over and over. Despite how many times she tried to move her eyes away from it, she always ended up rereading the quote placed under the chapter title.

It described Fairy Tail.

It described her.

A soft sigh left her lips as it got her thinking.

Her family. Her friends. Her home. Her powers. Her present. Her future.

Her past…

Or more specifically her past with Gajeel. The events that shaped her currently.

It made her think of a lot of things about herself.

“Hey Levy!” Jet’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as he and Droy slid across from her.

“What’s got you so deep in thought?” Droy asked, offering her some of the cookies she had.

Absently she took a cookie and brought it to her lips, but rather than taking a bit her eyes glossed over in thought again.

“Earth to Levy!” Jet laughed, even after a year apart she was still the same, she blinked and gave them a confused look as she took a bite of the cookie. Giving an appreciative nod at the taste to Droy who grinned. “What are you so lost in thought about?”

“A lot of things really.” She hummed taking another bite. “Droy, this cookie is amazing.” Her fingers were in front of her mouth as she spoke, this earned a grin from the plant mage.

“No way, Lev. Cough it up.” Jet stayed firm as he watched the blunette swallow her bite.

“… My parents… Master Makarov… Phantom Lord… How I’ve changed.”

“Hold on, I must have heard you wrong. I thought you said Phantom Lord for a second.” Jet laughed awkwardly, trying to brush off her comment.

“I did.” Suddenly both men were silent.

“Why?” Jet’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

“This quote reminded me of my dad… something he used to say when I was little… and something Master once said was very much like my dad’s advice…”

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